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S.-e-- 


TO 

THE  ADMIRERS 

OF 

AND  OF  THE   OTHER  ILLUSTRIOUS   SPIRITS  OF 
THE  GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ENGLAND, 

THESE  VOLUMES, 

WITH    TRUE    ETOMBLENESS, 

AKD   ENTIRE   DEVOTEDNESS  TO   THE   SXTB'iiOT, 

ARE   RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED, 

BV 

THEIR   FELLOW-WORSHIPPER, 

AND   VERT   OBEDIENT  SERVANT, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


IV129(>?8C) 


]Mim  mmEEWiEi  ^im  gf  ©mY 


OF 


THE  SECEET  PASSION 


CHAPTER  I. 

What  sport  do  I  make  with  these  fools !  what 

pleasure 
Feeds  me,  and  fats  my  sides  at  their  poor  inno- 
cence ! 

Hang  it,  give  me  mirth. 
Witty  and  dainty  mirth:   I  shall  grow  in  love, 

sure. 
With  mine  owne  happy  head. 

The  Wild  Goose  Chase. 
He  that  will  not,  now  and  then,  be  a  Cala- 
bingo,  is  worse  than  a  Calamoothe. 

The  Virgin  Martyr. 

But  do  you  know  what  fooling  is  ?  true  fool- 
ing ? 

The  circumstances  that  belong  unto  it  ? 

For  every  idle  knave  that  shows  his  teeth 

Wants,  and  would  live,  can  juggle,  tumble,  fid- 
dle. 

Make  a  dog-face,  or  can  abuse  his  fellow, 

Is  not  a  fool  at  first  dash  ;  you  shall  find,  sir. 

Strange  turnings  in  this  trade. 

The  Mad  Lover. 

If  laughter  may  be  taken  as  a  sign  of 
happiness,  then  right  happy  were  the  bois- 
terous, free-hearted  merry-makers  tliat  were 
causing  the  goodly  rafters  of  Dame  Hart's 
kitchen  to  ring  with  their  exceeding  mirth- 
fulness.  Peal  followed  peal,  and  shout 
burst  forth  after  shout,  with  so  little  show 
of  dilatoriness,  that,  ere  one  was  half  spent, 
t'other  was  in  full  force.  Had  any  listened 
to  it  but  ever  so  small  a  space,  he  could 
scarce  help  being  assured  that  the  wanton- 
est  wits  and  very  drollest  varlets  in  all 
Stratford,   ay,    and   for    miles   round,   had 


thronged  to  the  threshold  of  their  good  gos- 
sips, the  jolly  hatter,  and  his  no  less  jovial 
spouse,  and  were  there,  with  their  famous 
tales  and  excellent  good  jests,  intent  on 
having  the  walls  about  their  ears,  from  the 
effect  of  the  huge  tempest  of  laughter  they 
must  needs  be  provoking. 

Yet  had  little  Tommy  Hart  and  his  af- 
fectionate little  helpmate  no  such  company. 
In  very  truth,  they  had  but  got  about  them, 
as  was  their  wont  ever  since  the  two  had 
been  made  one — which  was  no  great  time — 
one  or  two  neighbors  and  acquaintances  of 
some  standing,  who  were  most  of  their  hu- 
mor, in  a  readiness  to  join  in  all  lawful 
pleasures,  to  speak  a  jest  in  season  that 
hurt  none,  and  promote  whatever  of  singing, 
or  telling  of  stories,  or  other  goodly  frolic, 
that  promised  amusement  sufficient  for  the 
wants  of  the  hour  and  the  company. 

Hugely  did  folk  of  more  serious  sort  mar- 
vel at  the  wondrous  appetite  for,  and  enjoy- 
ment in,  matters  of  drollery  of  Joan  Hart ; 
a  laugh  seemed  as  necessary  to  her  as  is 
water  to  a  fish ;  and,  to  look  into  her 
admirable  clear  eyes,  and  into  the  corners 
of  her  pouting  lips,  you  would  be  ready  to 
take  oath  on  it  she  had  such  provocation  to 
mirth  at  her  commandment,  nought  should 
reach  her,  however  remote  from  lightness, 
but  her  smiles  should  break  out  at  it  as 
bright  and  gladly  as  though,  under  its  as- 
sumed gravity,  there  was  jesting  of  the 
very  exquisitest  kind. 

Our  Joan  was  small  in  stature,  it  is  true, 
but  her  heart  was  of  an  exceeding  bigness, 
containing,  as  it  seemed,  whatever  was  most 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  in  all  humanity,  and  in  such  meas- 
ure, it  I(X)iied  to  be  in  a  constant  liiiinor  of 
oversowing.  But  of  this  sort  she  h;irJ  been 
from  her  earliest  years.  Never  did  Fate 
look  so  frowningly  but  she  could  make  as 
thoujjli  the  frown  was  a  smile  of  most  cov- 
etable  import.  When  she  came  to  have 
lovers,  she  laughed  famously  at  them  all, 
which  none  could  take  so  pleasantly  as 
'twas  meant,  save  only  little  Tommy  Hart, 
an  honest  chapman  of  her  native  town,  of  a 
like  size,  of  a  like  humor,  and  of  a  hke 
age  as  herself,  who  laughed  at  her  with  as 
true  a  zest  as  did  she  at  him.  Ere  any 
long  space  was  passed,  they  laughed  at  each 
other — in  perfect  truthfulness,  it  may  be 
said,  with  all  their  hearts — and,  in  the  end, 
the  daughter  of  the  honest  woolstapler,  to 
the  vast  contentation  of  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood, became  the  wife  of  the  waggish 
maker  of  hats. 

And  now  were  they  keeping  the  anniver- 
sary of  that  very  wedding,  in  their  holidty 
bravery,  with  no  lack  of  jollity,  as  may  be 
expected,  the  which,  if  example  could  bring 
a  sufficiency,  there  was  like  to  be  the  prodi- 
galest  display  of  it  ever  beheld.  For  there 
was  Joan,  with  her  face  as  brown  as  any 
Derry,  and  as  full  of  laughter  as  is  the  sun 
of  fire,  and  looking  nigh  upon  as  warm  with- 
al, standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group,  sitting 
round  her;  whereof  there  was  no  one 
whose  visage  indicated  not  all  the  mad  frol- 
ic in  the  which'  they  were  then  engaged. 
There  were  they,  a  group  of  some  twenty 
or  so  of  divers  sorts,  conditions,  and  ages  ; 
old  and  young,  fat  and  spare,  servant  and 
master,  alike  enjoying  themselves  to  the 
most  absolute  contentation  ever  known. 

Prominent  among  these  was  seen  the  un- 
wieldy form  of  Winifred  Poppet,  in  a  fair 
miniver  cap,  a  dainty  partletof  white  thread, 
and  a  stamel  red  petticoat  of  a  most  choice 
fashion,  as  intent  on  the  sport  as  if  she  took 
no  heed  of  such  braveries. 

Nevertheless,  this  was  by  no  means  the 
case,  for  a  careful  observer  might  have  no- 
ticed that  ever  and  anon,  however  busy  she 
seemed  with  the  game  that  was  going  on, 
she  turned  a  sly  glance  to  some  part  or  other 
of  her  gay  apparel,  and  twitched  a  fold  here, 
and  smoothed  a  rumple  there,  with  a  look 
of  as  infinite  contentation  as  ever  brightened 
up  the  visage  of  threescore  and  ten. 

By  her  side  was  seen  the  well-known 
figure  of  Jonas  Tietape,  in  excellent  favor 
among  the  burgesses'  wives  at  Stratford,  as 
a  woman's  tailor.  That  it  was  the  cunning 
in  his  craft  that  made  him  so  well  liked  of 
his  customers,  seemed  evident  enough,  of  all 
conscience  ;  for  gifts  of  person  or  counte- 


nance, for  the  obtaining  of  a  fair  woman's 
approval,  had  he  none  at  ail,  seeing  that  his 
features  were  by  no  means  comely,  his 
height  so  dwarfish,  that  an  ordinary  boy  of 
some  twelve  or  fourteen  years,  might,  with 
no  great  difficulty,  have  glanced  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his  head,  arms,  and  feet  of  a 
bigness  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  length 
and  size  of  his  limbs. 

With  these  defects  in  him,  Jonas  was  in 
such  huge  favor  with  his  customers — ay, 
and  with  whoever  were  of  his  acquaint- 
ance— as  was  no  woman's  tailor  in  the 
whole  county.  And  how  came  so  marvel- 
lous a  thing  to  pass,  seeing  that  women,  of 
all  persons,  are  only  to  be  taken  by  come- 
liness ?  inquireth  of  me  the  courteous  rea- 
der. Thus  was  it :  He  had  so  comic  a 
manner  with  him,  you  could  scarce  look  him 
in  the  (ace  but  you  must  needs  laugh  out- 
right. So  many  droll  antics  and  grimaces 
had  he,  such  odd  sayings,  so  great  a  multi- 
tude of  quaint,  diverting  tricks,  and  such  an 
infinite  fund  of  good  humor  at  his  disposal, 
that  you  might  as  well  expect  a  hungry  dog 
to  be  indiflFerent  to  a  full  platter,  as  that 
man,  woman,  or  child,  in  his  neighborhood, 
could  hear  him,  or  look  on  him,  and  carry 
on  any  melancholy  or  ungracious  hu- 
mors. 

Yet  it  must  also  be  recorded,  he  had  gifts 
of  some  sort.  Of  a  surety,  as  hath  been 
said,  they  were  not  of  person  ;  nevertheless, 
I  doubt  not  they  did  him  more  true  service 
wherever  he  went,  than  could  he  have 
gained  had  he  been  ever  so  proper  a  man. 
There  was  no  game  known  or  heard  of  be- 
twixt John  O'Groat's  house  and  the  Land's 
End,  he  had  not  as  pat  as  though  he  had 
played  it  all  his  days.  Hot-cocles,  or 
chuck-farthing,  loggets,  tick-tack,  seize- 
noddy,  barley-break,  cross-and-pile,  pick- 
point,  shove-groat,  and  a  lot  more  I  cannot 
stop  to  name,  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his 
fingers  and  thumbs. 

There  was  no  sport  at  which  he  was  not 
so  skilled,  it  was  rare  indeed  he  met  with 
his  fellow  at  any.  Cunning  at  the  bow 
was  he,  as  though  he  had  sought  to  be  held 
as  a  rival  to  Clym  o'  the  Clough,  or  even  to 
Robin  Hood  himself;  and  at  quarter-staff 
none  had  dared  touch  him  since  he  had 
cudgelled  Sandie  Daredevil,  the  big  drover 
from  over  the  border,  who  had  made  mocks 
at  him,  and  called  him  scurrilous  names, 
and  threatened  him  most  villanously,  till — 
though  no  seeker  of  brawls — he  took  him 
to  his  weapon,  and,  with  such  earnest- 
ness, the  rude  Scot  got  so  ugly  a  knock  on 
the  pate,  he  was  fiiin  from  that  time  forth  to 
take  up  his  hostel  in  the  churchyard.    Then 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


at  mumming  was  there  ever  so  monstrous  a 
dragon?  or  in  the  May  games,  who  had  eyes 
for  any  thing,  but  his  most  delectable  hob- 
by-horse ?  He  roared  sodragonish,  it  looked 
as  though  he  would  swallow  a  whole  parish 
at  a  mouthful ;  and  his  curvetings,  his 
neighings,  and  his  paces,  were  so  to  the  life, 
there  was  never  a  natural  horse  of  any  sort 
that  was  thought  able  to  do  them  half  so 
well. 

But  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a  suit  of  motley  ! 
Then  was  there  famous  shaking  of  sides  ! 
Of  a  Christmas  or  a  New  Year's  Eve,  per- 
chance, when  the  spacious  hall  or  kitchen 
was  thronged  with  some  of  the  merriest 
hearts  in  Stratford,  he  would  don  the  cap 
and  bells  and  parti-colored  suit,  and  so 
choicely  play  his  part,  that  the  very  wisest 
of  the  lookers-on  could  scarce  help  lament- 
ing he  had  such  lack  of  the  fool  in  iiim. 

Then,  how  brave  a  musician  was  he ! 
'Tvvas  a  marvel  to  hear  him  play  the  bag- 
pipes. He  blew  tliem  with  such  exceeding 
spirit,  all  the  dogs  in  the  parish  would  join 
in  full  chorus  whenever  he  headed  a  wed- 
ding party,  playing  up  "  Light  o'  Love,"  as 
was  his  wont ;  and  when  he  was  in  the  hu- 
mor of  taking  to  the  pipe  and  tabor,  the  mor- 
ice  would  be  danced  with  sucii  vehemency, 
the  lookers-on  could  scarce  help  thinking 
all  in  it  had  no  less  sufficiency  of  wings  to 
tlieir  legs  than  bells. 

These  gifts  caused  him  to  be  held  in 
such  esteem,  that  his  misshapen  condition 
was  never  commented  on  by  any  save  some 
few  malapert,  uncivil  grooms,  v.'ho,  when- 
ever they  had  sight  of  him,  allowed  tlieir 
rude  wits  to  run  riot  at  the  expense  of  his 
person  and  his  calling,  till  they  got  cudgelled 
into  more  honest  behavior.  By  those  he 
was  used  to  come  among,  nought  amiss  was 
seen  in  him.  They  had  got  so  familiar 
with  the  strangeness  of  his  fashioning,  they 
had  acquired  a  sort  of  affectionateness  to  it. 
His  dwartishness  they  got  a  liking  to,  far 
more  suitable  stature  in  other  men  failed  to 
create.  His  large  head  had  become  an  ob- 
ject of  singular  approval ;  and  what  else 
was  in  him  unseemly  or  objectionable  to  or- 
dinary persons,  to  them  was  a  feature  of 
matchless  interest. 

His  apparelling  was  as  little  like  that  of 
common  persons  as  was  his  visage  or  figure. 
He  ever  arrayed  himself  according  to  some 
conceit  or  other ;  and,  being  his  own  fash- 
ioner, and  having  usually  a  fine  choice  of 
inaterials,  lie  failed  not  on  any  occasion  of 
mirth  to  be  clothed  in  the  most  ridiculous 
garb  eyes  ever  beheld. 

Ai  this  present  showing,  he  had  on  a  jer- 
kin of  divers  colors,  made  of  pieces  as  vari- 


ous in  shape  as  opposite  in  fabric ;  for  lin- 
sey-woolsey and  Genoa  velvet,  taffeta  and 
broad-cloth,  fustian  of  Naples  and  Welch 
frieze,  Norwich  satin  anJ  Yorkshire  ker- 
sey, were  most  disorderly  mingled  together  ; 
and  as  for  the  suitableness  of  the  colors, 
what  could  be  said  of  an  arrangement  where 
iron-grey  and  scarlet,  murrey  and  sadnew 
color,  watchett  and  russet,  black  and  Lin- 
coln green,  were  in  closest  neighborhood  ? 
Below  this  was  seen  a  singular  kind  of 
breeches,  of  which  one  leg  disclosed  French 
sail-cloth  of  the  coarsest  sort,  and  the  other 
painted  arras,  as  ridiculously  fine  as  the  lim- 
ner's skill  could  make,  having  so  goodly  a 
subject  as  the  Queen  of  Sheba's  stomacher. 
These  had  monstrous  great  pockets  ;  and  as 
amongst  his  sundry  several  ways  of  getting 
a  living  was  the  breeding  certain  little  dogs, 
much  affected  by  his  richer  customers,  he 
was  wont  to  carry  one  in  each.  One  leg 
wore  hose  of  orange  tawny,  the  other  pur- 
ple ;  and  the  feet  had  on  them  severally,  a 
boot  of  undressed  leather,  and  an  embroi- 
dered pantofle. 

Laughing  at  the  droll  antics  and  smart 
sayings  of  Jonas  Tietape,  till  the  tears  made 
themselves  channels  down  his  floury  cheeks, 
sat  Cuthbert  Dredger,  the  stout  miller  of  the 
Seven  Meadows,  in  his  well-worn  leather 
jerkin,  high  boots,  and  well-stuffed  gallegas- 
kins  as  famously  covered  with  meal  as  was 
his  ruddy  face,  beard,  and  hair — whilst  on 
one  hand  of  him  stood  the  good  dame,  his 
wife,  and  on  the  other  his  stalwart  son — as 
like  to  his  father  in  all  externals  as  is  one 
peascod  like  another — in  their  homely  suits, 
showing  such  signs  of  the  dusty  miller,  that 
even  the  shaking  of  their  sides  filled  the 
air  with  myriads  of  motes. 

In  close  neighborhood  to  the  stout  miller's 
son  sat,  spic .  and  span  as  a  new-coined 
groat,  the  youthful  Margaret  Hippocras, 
better  known  of  the  good  folk  of  Stratford 
and  thereabouts,  as  Peg  o'  the  Twiggen 
Bottle — her  father  keeping  a  hostel  in  the 
town  so  called — though,  by  some  of  her  fa- 
miliars, she  was  often  entitled  Blinking  Peg, 
because  of  a  slight  infirmity  in  her  vision, 
approaching  nigh  unto  what  some  unman- 
nerly people  said  was  a  squint. 

Next  to  her  again  lolled,  almost  at  fall 
length,  the  hurley  figure  of  Jasper  Broad  foot 
— the  ploughman  of  a  rich  farmer  in  the 
neighborhood — in  the  hugeness  of  his  pleas- 
ure, his  mouth  stretching  open  as  it  were 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  his  freckled  face  half 
hid  by  the  liberal  show  of  sandy  locks,  t!iat 
curled  in  straggling  masses  around  it.  Two 
old  maiden  sisters  were  close  adjoining, 
sitting  up  as  straight  as  d.irts,  and  seeming 


8 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  be  almost  as  sparo  ;  their  sliarp  noses  and 
chins  siiowinij  a  m;initost  lonj^ing  for  a 
nearer  acquaintance,  and  tlieir  apparoliing 
8criipuioii8lv  neat  and  cie:in,  as  tliough  put 
on  for  the  first  time  ;  nevertlieless,  tliey  had 
been  hoHday  suits  with  them  any  time  these 
twenty  years.  They  were  screamino^  and 
clappiiio;  of  their  hands  in  infinite  contenta- 
tion  at  the  ])assing  scene ;  and,  indeed,  as 
absolute  was  their  content  at  all  such  mer- 
rymakings in  the  which  they  had  entered 
togetlier  witli  the  same  zest  since  they  had 
been  girls,  making  mutual  monstrous  exer- 
tions the  live-long  day  to  earn  a  decent  sub- 
sistence as  sempstresses,  ami,  after  working 
hours,  enjoying  themselves  wherever  there 
was  a  fair  promise  of  creditable  pastime. 

Last  of  all  was  a  smart  little  varlet,  with 
a  pair  of  merry  dark  eyes,  lighting  up  as 
pleasant  a  face — albeit  the  complexion  was 
of  the  darkest — as  ever  the  sun  shone  on. 
His  well  knit  limbs  were  famously  dis- 
played in  his  plain  russet  suit,  and  he 
seemed  as  though  he  could  never  tire  of 
their  employment ;  for,  with  all  the  quick- 
ness of  an  eel,  he  was  thrusting  himself 
now  here,  now  there,  with  an  intent  as 
though  he  would  on  no  account  fail  to 
share  at  tlie  fullest  in  the  sport  that  was 
going  on. 

This  was  no  other  than  the  jolly  hatter, 
the  laughing  husband  of  the  merry  Joan  : 
and,  whilst  she  was  now  stooping  down  in 
the  circle  around  her — they  being  all  en- 
gaged in  the  monstrous  pleasant  game  of 
"  hunt  the  slipper" — swearing  most  ear- 
nestly the  lusty  Goody  Poppet  had  got  the 
slipper  behind  her  ample  person.  Tommy 
Hart,  who  had  cleverly  contrived  to  get  hold 
of  it,  unexpectedly  gave  his  buxom  dame 
so  sore  a  smack  where  there  was  an  excel- 
lent fair  mark  for  such  a  purpose,  as  to  make 
her  regain  her  perpendicular  ere  you  could 
count  one,  amid  the  loud  laughing  of  the 
whole  party,  in  the  which  she  precisely 
joined,  with  a  heartiness  exceeded  by  none. 

"  Beshrew  thy  hand,  Tom,"  exclaimed 
she,  with  a  sort  of  moc!:  anger  in  her  laugh- 
ing ;  "  and  1  do  not  complain  to  the  Third- 
borough  of  thy  monstrous  heavy  blows,  I 
am  a  shottcn  herring." 

Here,  catching  a  glimp.so  of  the  slipper 
gliding  behind  the  backs  of  divers  of  the 
circle,  she  made  a  sudden  pounce  upon  the 
tapster's  daughter,  but,  by  some  trick  of  the 
woman's  tailor,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she 
came  against  Jasper  Broadfbot  with  such 
force,  as  to  send  him  against  the  two  an- 
cient sisters,  who,  in  spite  of  their  exceed- 
ing uprightness,  were  speedily  put  on  a  level 
with  tlie  floor. 


"  A  murrain  on  thee,  wench !"  cried  her 

laughing  husband.  "  In  seeking  for  the 
slipper,  thou  mu.st  needs  be  a  slipper  thy- 
self. Where  were  thine  eyes  to  lead  thee 
so  far  from  the  object  of  thy  search  ?  Per- 
chance, an  thou  canst  not  see,  thou  canst 
feel  ?" 

So  saying,  with  the  slipper  again  in  his 
hand,  he  took  her  smartly  over  the  toes. 

"  Oil,  thou  villain !"'  exclaimed  she,  of  a 
sudden  throwing  herself  upon  him,  grap- 
pling him  with  both  arms  to  secure 
what  she  wanted  ;  but,  lo !  ere  she  was 
well  down  she  felt  a  tap  on  the  shoulder, 
and,  directing  her  gaze  that  way,  she  be- 
held the  point  of  the  slipper  resting  there, 
as  if  held  by  some  one  behind  her.  She 
was  up  on  the  instant,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  it,  as  it  looked  to  her,  disappearing 
down  the  gaping  throat  of  Jonas  Tietape. 
It  was  a  feat  of  conjuring,  such  as  he  was 
wont  on  an  occasion  to  amuse  his  wonder- 
ing gossips  with,  but  the  simple  Joan 
thought  she  could  not  miss  having  it,  and 
grappled  her  acquaintance  by  the  throat,  to 
make  him  disgorge  the  desired  mouthful, 
till  he  was  getting  black  in  the  face,  and 
she  distinctly  saw  it  in  the  hands  of  the 
young  ploughman,  flourished  within  an 
inch  of  her  nose.  Before  she  could  recover 
herself,  it  had  disappeared  she  knew  not 
whither. 

"  Never  saw  I  the  like  o'  this,  gossips  !" 
cried  Joan,  somev;hat  scant  of  breath,  and 
looking  in  a  huge  perplexity.  "  It  hath 
been  said  there  are  few  quicker  at  this 
pastime  than  am  I,  and  yet  have  I  been  toil- 
ing to  no  profit  this  half  hour  or  more." 

This  speech  elicited  no  more  synipathy 
than   might   be   gathered   from    a   general  \ 
laugh  both  loud  and  long,  to  which  many  of  ' 
the  company  added  famous  commendations 
of  the  poor  woman's  patience  and  agility. 

"  I  do  think  thou  couldst  teach  a  horse  to 
eat  his  beans  with  a  toothpick,  dame,"  ob- 
served Jonas,  in  his  drollest  manner  ;  "thou 
hast  so  persevering  a  way  with  thee." 

"  Slow  and  sure,  Joan,"  exclaimed  her 
husband,  approvingly. 

"  Nay,  good  fellow,"  quoth  the  old  miller, 
who  was  as  ready  as  any  at  a  jest,  "  had 
she  taken  such  time  to  discover  a  husband 
as  she  hath  to  And  a  slipper,  I  doubt  much 
thy  fair  commodity  of  hats  would  have  seen 
a  inLstress  in  her  this  side  of  domesday." 

"  A  husband,  quotha  !"  cried  Jean,  cun- 
ningly taking  a  sharp  scrutiny  of  the  circle 
around  her.  "  They  require  no  such  horri- 
ble painstaking  to  get  a  hold  of — Heaven  be 
thanked !  Had  I  thought  my  Tom  had 
been  so  difficult  of  ixxssessing,  I  would  aa 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


soon  haVe  gone  for  counsel  to  a  Bedlam 
bejTcrar,  as  have  looked  beyond  my  nose  for 
him.     Ah,  goody,  I  have  thee  tliis  time  !" 

But  goody,  vvir.h'a  chuckle  tliat  made  her 
chin  quiver  like  a  goodly  aspen  tree,  exhibit- 
ed to  the  disappointed  Joan  her  two  empty 
hands. 

"  By  my  halidom,  I  could  have  sworn  I 
saw  it  !"  e.xcLiimed  she,  in  some  little  em- 
pliasis,  as  she  narrowly  watched  a  very  sus- 
picious movement  beliind  tlie  two  ancient 
spinsters.  As  a  cat  looketh  alter  a  mouse, 
did  she  continue  to  peer  at  their  motions, 
elily  affecting  the  whilst  to  have  nothmg  so 
far  from  her  thoughts. 

And  thus  it  continued  some  little  time 
longer,  with  a  vast  expenditure  of  jests  from 
all,  and  such  antics  froai  the  frolicsome  wo 
man's  tailor,  as  helped  the  general  mirth 
hugely.  It  so  happened  at  last,  however, 
thai  Peg  o'  the  Twiggen  Bottle,  being  intent 
upon  a  complete  concealment  of  her  defect 
of  vision  from  hearing  some  pretty  flatteries 
poured  into  her  ear  by  the  young  miller,  had 
got  her  eyes  modestly  fi.xed  as  it  were  upon 
tlie  floor,  and  was  so  taken  with  the!  atten- 
tions of  her  companion,  that  she  neither 
heard  nor  saw  the  efforts  of  her  other  neigh- 
bour to  induce  her  to  pass  the  slipper. 
Joan,  whose  looks  were  sharpened  by  re- 
peated failures,  detected  the  impatient  pok- 
ings  the  inattentive  Peggy  was  receiving, 
and  unexpicledly  dashed  upon  the  possessor 
of  the  slipper  before  she  had  limeto  remove  it, 
and,  witli  a  shout  of  exultation,  which  was 
swelled  by  that  of  all  the  circle,  she  caughi 
hold  of  the  long-sought  pri-se,  and  waved  it 
over  her  head  in  triumph. 
'•  The  first  use  she  made  of  it  was,  though 
with  inhiiite  good  humor,  to  repay  tier 
husband  the  smacks  she  had  had  of  him, 
and,  malgre  his  attempts  to  escape  behind 
others  of  the  company,  she  desisted  not  tiil 
all  was  returned  with  a  handsome  interest, 
to  the  exceeding  good  entertainment  of  her 
several  guests.  Jonas  Tietipe  must  needs 
put  his  unshapely  person  in  the  way,  mak- 
ing of  sucli  grimaces  as  would  have  un- 
settled the  solemness  of  an  owl,  but  the 
slipper  spared  not  him  any  more  than  his 
host :  certes  he  got  it  in  places  quite  oppo- 
site to  what  the  giver  intended,  for  with  his 
antics  he  so  flung  himself  about,  that  what 
was  aimed  at  his  head  lighted  on  his  heels. 
He  was  as  nimble  at  his  tricks  as  a  kitten 
— now  with  his  heels  in  the  air  and  his 
hands  on  the  ground,  or  each  following  the 
other  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  whilst  the 
head  seemed  to  be  shifting  of  itself  into  all 
sorts  of  unnatural  positions,  with  such  ridi- 
culous  looks   upon   the   ungainly   counte- 


nance, all  around  laughed  till  their  sides 
ached.  And  this  of  a  surety  did  not  lessen 
when  the  heads  of  two  little  dogs,  doubtless 
made  in  some  way  uncomfortable  by  his 
strange  movements,  were  seen  suddenly  to 
emerge  from  his  pockets,  with  looks  half  of 
curiousness  and  lialf  of  alarm,  making  a 
sharp  angry  yelp,  as  if  they  liked  not  such 
uneasy  motion. 

The  chamber  in  which  these  famous 
gambols  were  going  on,  albeit  no  other  than 
Uarne  Hart's  kitchen,  was  as  proper  a  one 
to  sit  in  as  might  be  found  in  dwellings  of 
greater  note  than  that  of  the  jolly  hatter  of 
Stratford.  There  were  huge  rafters  went 
across  the  top,  whereon  was  flxed  a  rude 
rack  containing  divers  flitches  of  bacon. 
The  chimney  was  of  exceeding  capacious- 
ness, projecting  far  into  the  room,  having' 
within  on  each  side,  a  commodious  bench 
for  the  lovers  of  the  chimney-corner,  to 
whom  the  close  neighborhood  of  the  fire- 
dogs  offered  most  choice  attractions.  Above, 
was  an  old  crossbow,  a  rusty  helmet,  a  stout 
sword  and  buckler,  and  a  quarter-staff 
worthy  of  the  Miller  of  Mansfield. 

On  a  shelf  were  arranged  an  excellent 
show  of  clean  platters,  and  on  another  divers 
cooking  utensils  as  bright  and  clean  as 
scrubbing  could  make  them.  Bunches  of 
dry  herbs  were  swinging  in  one  place,  and 
a  bag  with  seeds  close  upon  it.  A  goodly 
bundle  of  corn,  in  the  ear,  and  a  fair  bough 
of  hawthorn,  full  of  berries,  were  seen  not 
far  from  them  ;  a  skin  or  two  were  stretched 
out  and  drying  on  the  w  linscot ;  there  was 
no  lack  of  blocks  and  irons  such  as  apper- 
tained to  the  hatter's  trade,  but  they  were 
evidently  put  away  for  the  nonce,  wherever 
good  room  for  them  could  be  found  ;  and  a 
space,  nigh  upon  a  yard  square,  near  the 
chimney,  was  covered  with  the  choice  bal- 
lads of  the  time. 

A  large  oak  table  had  been  tlirust  on  one 
side  to  allow  the  revellers  more  space,  and 
a  liberal  show  of  stools  were  huddled  to- 
gether in  another  corner.  A  huge  iron  pot 
was  swinging  over  the  firedogs,  to  which  a 
stout,  middle-aged  woman,  with  bare  arms, 
and  a  face  that  rivalled  them  in  ruddiness, 
ever  and  anon  came  out  of  some  adjoining 
chamber  to  look  to. 

On  one  occasion  she  was  accompanied 
with  an  exceeding  ragged  boy,  who  looked 
not  to  bs  more  than  some  six  or  eight  years 
old.  He  helped  to  carry  a  log  from  the 
wood-house  to  the  kitchen-fire,  which  he 
seemed  intent  on  with  so  monstrous  an 
earnestness  expressed  in  his  fat,  foolish 
visage,  that  it  drew  upon  him  the  good- 
humored  jesting  of  divers  of  the  company. 


10 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


whilst,  on  a  sudden,  Jonas  took  him  by  the 
seat  of  his  soiled  and  worn-out  slops,  held 
him  at  arms'  length  above  his  head,  and 
made  sucli  monstrous  mouths  as  though 
about  to  make  a  meal  of  him  without  any 
grace  said.  The  boy  struggled  somewhat, 
to  the  great  endangering  of  his  sorry  gar- 
ments, that  were  so  patched  there  was  no 
telling  of  what  color  they  might  have  been, 
and  he  bawled  most  famously,  but  only  as 
it  seemed  to  the  heightening  of  the  mirth  of 
the  lookers-on. 

The  woman  observed  this  with  a  huge  in- 
differency,  tiiat  some  might  have  thought 
argued  little  of  the  mother  in  her;  though 
out  of  all  doubt  the  chubby,  dirty,  and  rag- 

fed  little  urchin,  on  whom  the  frolicsome 
onas  was  playing  off  his  antics,  was  her 
child.  She  continued  her  attentions  to  the 
cookery,  notwithstanding  the  boy  occasion- 
ally set  up  so  main  a  cry  she  must  have 
been  monstrous  hard  of  hearing  had  she 
not  known  of  it  somewhere  nigh  upon  the 
end  of  the  street.  At  last  it  so  chanced,  his 
tormentor,  by  sonf\e  odd  contortions  of  all 
his  limbs,  thrust  his  unseemly  head  exactly 
upon  the  very  opposite  extremity  to  where 
nature  had  originally  placed  it,  and  hopped 
around  the  room  on  his  two  hands  liKe  a 
bird,  supporting  the  frighted  boy  on  his  legs, 
which  were  standing  above  his  head  like  a 
pair  of  monstrous  horns.  The  shouts 
which  this  feat  created  made  the  motlier 
turn  trom  the  pot  she  was  so  intent  on. 

"  Heart  o'  grace,  here's  a  sight  to  see  !" 
exclaimed  the  woman,  in  no  slight  astonish- 
ment, and  with  some  small  spice  of  ill- 
nature.  "  Launce,  lad  !  o'  my  life,  thou 
ridest  in  a  strange  fashion  :  but  fair  and 
Boftly,  and  the  worst  beast  may  be  made  to 
go  its  best  paces." 

Notwithstanding  this  consolation,  the  boy, 
who  from  the  ordinary  state  of  his  apparel 
was  known  by  gentle  and  simple  as  Ragged 
Launce,  cried  more  lustily  than  ever:  yet 
was  his  fright  so  ludicrous  it  was  clean  im- 
possible for  any  to  care  about  releasing  him 
from  his  unpleasant  position  :  and  the  merry 
knave  continued  his  leaping  till  he  was 
tired, 

"  I  have  put  thee  to  most  unblessed  ex- 
tremities, friend  Launce,"  said  he,  as  he 
gravely  placed  him  again  upon  his  legs, 
and  with  a  mock  interest  appeared  tc  ar- 
range in  the  best  fashion  the  boy's  dilapi- 
dated garments.  "But  thou  hast  bad  habits, 
friend  Liunce,"  he  continued,  pulling  the 
poor  boy's  linen  out  of  the  wide  rents  ia  ids 
several  garments — '•  bad  habits,  which,  al- 
beit neit.ier  parson  nor  pedagogue,  it  is  my 
vocation  to  mend.     I  prytheo  come  to  my 


dwelling  when  thou  hast  ceased  ta  be  want- 
ed as  a  scarecrow,  and  I  will  do  thy  elbows 
all  the  service  my  craft  can  compass." 

"  In  sooth,  his  apparelhng  be  none  o'  the 
best,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  show  of  gra- 
vity in  the  laugh  she  heartily  joined  in  with 
those  about  her,  '•  nor  could  it  well  have 
been  so,  seeing  that  after  Dickon  o'  the 
Close  had  worn  it  seven  year,  he  gave  it  to 
his  ploughman  Robin,  who  died  the  next 
sheep-shearing  of  the  sweating  sickness ; 
and  my  poor  husband,  that's  also  dead  and 
gone,  had  it  on  him  in  all  seasons,  thatch- 
ing or  ditching,  felling  or  weeding  iroin  the 
Martinmas  Master  Go.~ling's  brindled  cow 
tossed  Goody  Skillett  into  the  horse-pond, 
till  that  very  AUhallows  when  Sir  George 
Carew's  Irish  hound  was  drowned  in  the 
well  ;  a  matter  of  three  year  and  a  half,  and 
since  then  Launce  hath  had  them  for  lack 
of  better." 

"  A  tine  choice  of  masters,  o'  my  life," 
cried  Tom  Hart  to  his  guests,  merrily.  "  I 
trust  there  may  be  no  danger  of  hats  serv- 
ing so  many." 

"  Nay,  Tom,  that  would  suit  us  but  ill,  I 
promise  you,"  answered  his  ready  help- 
mate, as  she  was  assisting  to  get  the  supper 
in  proper  forwardness.  "  Of  the  two,  I 
would  liefer  a  lack  of  heads  for  the  hats, 
than  a  lack  of  hats  for  the  heads.  For 
mine  own  part,  were  I  a  sovereign  princess, 
I  would  make  it  felony,  without  benefit  of 
clergy,  for  any  one  to  shelter  his  crown  in 
any  covering  whereof  another  man  hath  al- 
ready had  honest  advantages." 

"  That  is  to  say,  dame,"  observed  Jonas 
Tietape,  with  a  grin  of  surpassing  drollery, 
"  an  a  man  must  needs  take  to  other  men's 
hats,  he  should  have  no  head  to  support  his 
own  withal." 

"  OdJs  pigs,  Jonas  !"  exclaimed  the  stout 
miller,  "  that  would  not  be  a  law  to  break 
on  a  sudden.  However  ill-lined  a  man's 
purse  may  be,  methinks  he  could  better  af- 
ford to  lose  his  hat  than  his  head." 

"  Ah  !  feyther,  that  would  I  for  one  at 
all  times,"  answered  the  younger  Dredger, 
breaking  off  for  a  while  from  his  dalliance 
with  the  fair  tapster. 

"  I  warrant  you,"  observed  Jasper  Broad- 
foot,  opening  his  huge  mouth  with  a  horse- 
laugh such  as  might  have  disturbed  the  re- 
pose of  all  the  steeds  in  the  neighborhood. 

Jasper  Broadf(jot  had  not  much  to  say; 
but  Jasper  Broadfoot  had  at  times  a  mon- 
strous deal  to  laugh,  and  his  little  say  was 
ever  the  prelude  of  a  burst  of  mirtli,  of 
which  the  end  seemed  more  problematical 
than  all  the  pages  of  that  famous  master  of 
figures,  Master  Euclid. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


11 


''•  Pr}i;hee  heed  not  such  idle  fancies, 
good  gossips,"  here  observed  Goody  Pop- 
pet, with  an  air  the  while  that  spoke  an  in- 
tinite  satisfaction  with  her  fine  apparel,  the 
greater  portion  of  which  was  of  other 
people's  wearing.  "  Tiiere  be  ho  harm  in 
putting  on  a  thing  tliat  fitteth  you — the 
more  especial  if  it  cost  nothing — though  it 
hath  been  worn  of  another." 

"  Truly  I  think  not,"  added  tlie  miller's 
wife,  who  did  not  disd.iin  a  cast  gown  from 
the  lady  of  the  manor,  or  any  other  wor- 
shipul  person  within  five  miles  of  her, 
which  she  appeared  in  with  slight  regard  of 
tlie  laws  made  and  provided  against  the 
commonalty  wearing  what  was  allowed  only 
to  their  betters. 

"  Dear  heart,  doth  say  so,  indeed  !"  ex- 
claimed Penelope  Tressle,  the  elder  of  the 
two  spinsters,  with  a  smile  of  some  am- 
biguousness  on  her  spare  visage.  "  For 
mine  own  part,  I  either  mislike  others  ap- 
parelling hugely,  or  it  niislikelh  me,  for  of 
other  than  mine  own  gear  have  I  never 
donned  since  I  have  known  the  use  of 
homespun  :  and  Honour  hath  been  afflicted 
with  the  like  foohshness." 

"  Ay,  that  have  I,"  said  her  younger  sis- 
ter, innocently,  "  and  I  thank  God  for  it." 

"  And  what  art  thou  thankful  for,  thou 
scarcecrow  ?"  cried  Tommy  Hart,  as  he 
caught  Ragged  Launce  up  Ijy  the  arm,  and 
placed  him  on  one  of  the  stools,  where  in 
the  light,  of  the  fire,  he  stood  half  abashed, 
with  one  finger  to  his  eye,  and  the  other 
hand  grasping  the  tattered  remnants  of  his 
lower  garment.  He  was  silent  for  awhile, 
even  though  all  around  him  were  busy 
miking  the  very  bitingest  jests  they  could 
think  of  at  his  expense ;  and  laughing 
seemed  a  privilege  it  was  evident  none  cared 
to  be  deprived  of. 

"  Thou  hast  monstrous  cause  for  thank- 
fulness, friend  Launce,"  said  Jonas,  as  he 
was  soberly  intent  on  making  the  boy's  jer- 
kin— which  was  a  world  too  large — sit  upon 
him  with  some  pretensions  to  the  court  style  ; 
ever  and  anon  standing  at  a  distance,  as 
though  to  admire  the  sit  of  it,  and  looking 
on  the  bystanders  with  that  air  of  satisfac- 
tion with  which  an  admirable  workman  is 
wont  to  shew  his  handicraft. 

"  What  art  thankful  for,  I  prythee  ?"  cried 
Tommy  Hart,  once  again. 

"  Methinks  I  have  no  great  call  for  thanks 
at  this  present,"  observed  Ragged  Launce, 
looking  st'^adfastly  on  the  cufF  of  his  jerkin  ; 
then,  suddenly  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  his 
questioner  with  a  famous  shrewd  look, 
added,  ''  but  an  thou  let  me  have  a  fair  new 
cap  to  my  head  to  wear  on  holidays,  I  will 


have  such  notable  cause  for  thanks,  I  can- 
not help  being  thankful  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  Why,  thou  cozening  rogue,  thou  !"  ex- 
claimed the  merry  hatter,  joining  heartily  ia 
the  laugh  this  speech  raised  at  his  expense. 
"  But,  out  of  goodwill  to  thy  father,  to 
whom  I  owe  some  thanks,  the  fair  new  cap 
thou  shalt  have,  and  with  it  such  a  suit 
withal  as  thy  motiier  Maud  and  that  grin- 
ning varlet  Jonas  can  provide  for  tlieeout  of 
one  of  mine." 

This  announcement  was  received  with 
infinite  contentation ;  and,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, none  were  so  well  content  with  it  as 
Maud  and  her  ragged  boy,  of  whom  the 
latter  was  so  in  especial,  and  minded  not  a 
whit  the  many  rough  tricks  the  merry  knave 
kept  playing  upon  him.  In  the  meanwhile, 
Maud,  assisted  by  Dame  Hart  and  her  more 
matronly  gossips,  had  finished  her  cookery, 
and  got  it  spread  on  the  table  ready  for  the 
now  hungry  company,  wlio,  nothing  loath, 
sat  themselves  down  to  it  in  a  presently, 
and  were  soon  wondrous  busy  in  essaying 
the  several  dishes.  Nevertheless,  busy  as 
they  seemed  every  one  of  them,  their  mirth 
scarce  slacked  an  instant.  The  woman's 
tailor  appeared  to  have  a  greater  commodity 
of  tricks,  jests,  strange  grimaces,  and  odd 
distortions  of  himself  than  ever  he  had, 
whereof  he  displayed  a  most  choice  store, 
till  some  could  not  eat  for  laugliing,  and 
others  could  not  laugh  for  chokiu:: ;  and,  ns 
for  drinking,  none  dared  so  much  as  put  a 
cup  to  his  mouth  in  his  sight,  for,  after  the 
resistless,  ludicrous  grimace  that  was  sure 
to  come  of  it,  a  hogshead  was  as  likely  to 
be  swallowed  as  a  mouthful. 

The  first  to  begin,  and  the  last  to  leave  off 
every  laugh  that  was  set  a-going  was  Tom- 
my Hart  orjiis  fair  helpmate  ;  and  so  excel- 
lent an  example  was  not  like  to  be  lost  sight 
of  in  such  a  company;  whereof  the  conse- 
quence was,  the  black -pudding  cooled  on  the 
trenchers,  and  the  porridge  was  like  to  be 
sent  away  scarce  touched  by  any,  had  not 
some  space  intervened  between  the  fi.s  of 
mirth  that  were  so  general. 

Of  all  those  present  there  was  but  one 
who  looked  as  if  taking  any  interest  in  the 
meal  before  him,  and  that  was  no  other  than 
Ragged  Launce.  He  sat  on  a  stool  cross- 
legged,  with  a  smoking  bowl  of  porridge  in 
his  lap;  and  though  such  excess  of  mirth, 
shrieks,  and  shouts,  and  frantic  gesticula- 
tions proceeded  from  every  one  about  him, 
Launce  continued  at  his  porridge  as  grave 
as  a  lawyer  making  a  will  at  the  death-bed 
of  his  client,  blowing  every  burning  spoon- 
ful with  an  intense  energy  that  puffed  up  his 
dirty  fat  cheeks  as  big  as  those  of  a  trump- 


12 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


eter  at  the  founding  of  some  monstrous  l)iffli 
note;  yet,  in  his  eajrcrness  taking  of  it  so 
hot,  the  tears  ran  down  liis  eyes  in  streams 
as  he  gulped  the  scalding  morsel.  But, 
when  he  had  tinishod  llic  bowl,  there  was  a 
change,  I  warrant  you  !  In  an  instant  he 
was  as  alive  to  the  fun  as  any,  and,  of  the 
various  voices  that  burst  forth  at  every  fresh 
piece  of  exquisite  fooling  on  the  part  of  Jo- 
nas, the  shrill  treble  of  Ragged  Launce  was 
far  above  the  loudest. 

In  a  short  space,  he  was  called  upon  to 
help  to  reuiove  the  trenchers,  which  he  did 
with  an  exceeding  readiness,  taking  care, as 
he  turned  his  back  to  the  table,  to  empty  in- 
to his  gaping  jaws  whatever  eatable  was 
left  thereon. 

"Launce!"  shouted  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a 
voice  that  made  the  boy  drop  the  trencher 
he  was  then  carrying  away.  He  turned 
round  short,  and  picked  up  the  fallen  vessel, 
but  answered  not,  for  a  reason  doubtless  siit- 
ficiently  to  ihe  purpose.  "Launce,  I  tell 
thee,  come  hither  !" 

The  boy  slowly  approached — albeit  with 
a  countenance  of  some  irresolution.  "  My 
trencher,  sirrah !  What  made  thee  remove 
it  without  any  request  so  to  do  ?'" 

Launce  seemed  suddenly  suffering  from 
some  convulsive  action  of  the  face,  part  of 
which  looked  afflicted  with  an  awful  swell- 
ing. He  twisted  his  mouth  about  in  an  ex- 
ceeding odd  manner ;  but  instead  of  answer- 
ing, stared  very  hard  at  the  questioner,  and 
returned  the  trencher  to  the  table. 

"  Ah,  this  be  it  outof  all  doubt !"  exclaim- 
ed Jonas,  "  but  what  witchcraft  had  conjured 
away  the  goodly  portion  of  exquisite  dump- 
ling that  was  on  it  but  a  moment  since  ?" 

Launce  looked  as  though  making  desper- 
ate efforts  to  answer.  The  coMiers  of  his 
mouth  were  seen  to  move  with  violent 
twitches;  the  swelling  shifted  a  bit,  but  did 
not  diminish.  Nothing,  however,  came  of 
these  movements,  but  a  stare  more  fixed  and 
of  less  meaning  than  the  former  one. 

"  Hast  lost  the  use  of  thy  tongue,  knave !" 
No,  it  was  his  teeth  he  had  lost  the  use  of. 
In  transferring  the  contents  of  the  trencher 
to  the  capacious  cupboard,  that  had  already 
received  the  unfurnishing  of  sundry  others 
equally  well  provided,  he  had  on  the  sudden 
sent  his  teeth  with  such  force  into  the  thick 
piece  of  dough,  that  he  could  not  withdraw 
them,  anl  he  could  neither  swallow  the  un- 
wieldly  mouthful,  nor  disengage  his  jaws  for 
the  purposes  of  speech.  In  short,  his  moi;th 
was  as  firmly  closed  as  though  a  padlock 
had  fastened  it. 

"  Alas,  gossips,  this  is  a  sad  business!" 
cried   Jonas,   looking   wondrously   doleful. 


"  The  loss  of  my  dumpling  I  care  not  so 
much.  Though  I  do  affirm  it  to  be  as  deli- 
cate eating  as  dumpling  ever  was.  Yet  the 
loss  of  this  poor  t)oy's  gift  of  speech  is  as 
deplorable  a  thing  as  can  well  be  thought 
of  But  I  must  needs  essay  a  touch  of  mine 
art.     1  do  hope  to  recover  both  these  losses." 

Ragged  Launce  was  getting  more  uneasy 
every  minute.  His  face  had  become  mar- 
velously  hot  and  red,  and  his  grimaces  hor- 
ribly violent.  The  company  looked  in  si- 
lence it  is  true,  but  with  looks  of  such  mean- 
ing as  any  language  at  their  commandment 
could  not  half  so  well  have  expressed. 

The  tailor  with  great  gravity  drew  the 
boy  towards  him,  muttering  a  strange  jargon 
in  a  rapid  voice  that  made  Ragged  Launce 
tremble  to  his  shoes.  Suddenly  laying  the 
boy's  head  in  his  lap,  he  caught  hold  of  his 
nose  with  one  hand,  and  his  chin  with  the 
other,  and  drew  open  his  mouth,  exhibiting 
to  all  the  huge  lump  of  dumpling  that  seem- 
ed to  fill  the  whole  space  within. 

"  Behold  the  virtue  of  mine  art,  my  mas- 
ters !"  cried  Jonas  exultingly.  "  Lo  !  I  have 
found  my  lost  dumpling."  A  laugh  long 
and  loud  testified  the  general  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  skill  as  a  conjuror.  Launce 
made  one  desperate  effort — a  swelling  rose 
in  his  neck  of  a  size  awful  to  look  im — his 
eyes  became  red  with  straining  —  tears 
gushed  over  his  dingy  cheeks — he  gasped 
as  though  like  one  taken  with  a  sudden  fit, 
and  then  drew  a  strong  breath.  "  O  my 
life,  1  knew  not  but  you  had  done  with  your 
trencher !"  said  he,  in  a  monstrous  eager- 
ness. 

"  Behold  the  virtue  of  mine  art,  my  mas- 
ters !"  again  exclaimed  Jonas,  in  the  same 
exulting  tone.  "  Lo  !  I  have  found  the  lost 
speech." 

In  the  midst  of  the  roar  of  mirth  which 
came  on  the  heels  of  this  marvellous  discov- 
ery, there  was  heard  a  loud  knocking  at 
the  outer  door,  at  which  all  started,  some 
with  astonishment,  some  with  alarm,  and 
some  with  wonder.  Ragged  Launce  in  very 
fear  slunk  away  and  hid  himself  under  the 
big  settle;  but  failed  not  as  he  went  to  take 
with  him  a  huge  roasted  pippin  with  cloves 
in  it,  that  lay  with  others  close  at  hand  on 
the  table ;  but,  quick  as  he  had  done  it,  it 
escaped  not  the  eye  of  his  busy  mother,  who 
on  the  instant  pursued  him  with  the  ladle 
she  had  in  her  hand,  and,  as  he  was  duck- 
ing under  the  settle,  hit  him  so  sore  a  stroke 
with  it  on  his  pole,  he  set  up  a  cry  loud 
enough  to  alarm  all  the  watch  in  town. 
Nevertheless,  seeing  he  was  likely  to  have 
no  worse  usage,  as  the  enraged  Maud  for- 
bore any  further  proceedings,  hearing  a  re- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


13 


petition  of  the  rude  knocking  more  violent 
than  before,  he  quitted  liis  crying,  and  with 
one  hand  rubbin;:  his  bruised  pate,  with  the 
other  he  thrust  the  pippin  into  his  mouth, 
and  soon  lost  all  sense  ol'  pain,  or  fear  either 
in  its  enioyment. 
"  Who  can  it  be  ?" 

"  Wiiat  can  any  seek  here  at  this  untime- 
ly hour  ?" 

"  It  cannot  be  thieves  surely." 
"Pray  Heaven  it  be  not  tire  !" 
"  Hatii  any  ill-mannerly  rogue  been  set 
on  to  disturb  our  pleasure  ?" 

"  Some  drunkjn  varlet  mayhap,  wh^  '  .l_.  ^ 
mistaken  his  lodging." 

"  PtTchance  it  be  some  one  for  me." 
"  Nay,  I  expect  'tis  I  who  am  wanted." 
"As  1  live,  it  was  an  awful  knocking!"' 
"  An  it  should  be  anything  not  of  this 
world." 

"  Alack  !  do  not  say  so,  I  prythee  !" 
'•  Mercy  on  us,  there  it  be  again!     Oh  it 
cannot  help  being  a  warning  for  us  to  pre- 
pare for  our  ends." 

And  thus  every  one  cried  out  something, 
and  every  one  imagined  something,  but 
none  looked  inclined  to  see  what  something 
it  was.  This  state  of  things  was  made  a 
thousand  times  worse  by  the  woman's  tailor 
suddenly  assuming  an  aspect  of  the  most 
absolute  atfright  ever  witnessed,  whilst  at 
the  same  time  he  uttered  a  cry  so  terrible 
all  the  women  shrieked,  and  rushed  into  the 
arms  of  the  men  nearest  them  with  such 
wondrous  force,  more  than  one  was  borne 
to  the  ground,  and  the  rest  were  so  jostled 
together,  a  flock  of  timid  sheep  set  on  by  a 
dog  could  not  have  got  in  so  small  a  com- 
pass. 

Jonas  stood  aloof  from  the  fear-struck 
throng  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  liis 
mouth  at  its  utmost  stretch,  giving  vent  to 
so  boisterous  a  peal  of  laughing  as  even 
those  old  rafters,  familiar  as  they  were  with 
such  sounds,  had  had  no  knowledge  of. 

"Why,  thou  intolerable  faint  hearts!" 
exclaimed  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  pro- 
per command  of  his  speech.  "  If  it  be  any 
thing  less  substantial  than  Goody  Poppet's 
stout  wench,  with  her  lantern  to  see  home 
her  mistress,  I  have  no  more  brains  than  a 
three-hooped  pot."  Whereupon  the  merry 
knave  threw  open  the  door,  and  flying  like 
a  wheel,  turning  round  upon  his  hands  and 
feet,  he  passed  with  a  mischievous  chuckle 
through  the  next  chamber  to  the  house-door, 
though  the  way  was  so  dark  you  could  not 
see  your  hand  in  it. 

This  declaration  somewhat  pacified  the 
affrighted  company,  whereof  the  male  part 
seemed  the   readiest   satisfied  —  the    most 


scared  being  by  far  the  quickest  to  assume 
an  air  of  inditferency — the  miller  and  his 
son  boldly  saying  they  were  assured  all 
along  it  could  be  no  other  than  their  gossip's 
handmaid  ;  but  Tommy  Hart  honestly  said, 
he  had  not  been  in  so  horrible  a  fear  all  his 
days,  and  vowed  he  would  never  rest  till  he 
had  served  that  "  snipttaff'eta  fellow,"  as  he 
styled  the  tailor,  with  such  another  trick. 

As  they  were  rapidly  gaining  confidence, 
and  Goody  Poppet  was  preparing  .or  putting 
herself  under  the  guidance  of  her  usual  at- 
tendant in  dark  nights  to  return  home,  the 
^^oT  opened.  Every  one  expected  the  stout 
wench  so  well  known  to  them,  but  there 
presently  entered  one  who  was  no  more  like 
unto  her,  than  is  the  golden  sun  to  a  Ban- 
bury cheese. 

The  hood  with  which  her  delicate  sweet 
face  was  o»^TTai,^,^pj  yy^^g  suddenly  thrown 
back  from  ner  shoulders  by  the  hand  of  Jo- 
nas Tietape,  who  had  entered  with  her,  and 
there  was  displayed  the  features  of  a  young 
girl,  of  not  more  than  twelve  years,  flushed 
as  though  with  some  great  exertion,  and 
wearing  withal  a  troubled  air,  that  did  give 
to  its  surpassing  loveliness  an  expression  so 
touching,  the  horridest  villain  could  not  help 
feeling  its  exquisite  influence- 

"Susannah!"  cried  Joan  Hart,  evidently 
in  a  wondrous  amazement  as  she  recogniz- 
ed her  youthful  visitor.  "  VVhy,  what  hath 
brought  thee  here  at  this  untimely  hour  ?" 

"  Truly  a  great  need  !"  replied  as  musi- 
cal soft  a  voice  as  ear  ever  heard  this  side 
of  heaven ;  and  then  she  wrung  her  dainty 
little  hands,  and  looked  so  pitiful,  all  present 
felt  their  hearts  melt  within  them.  "  An  it 
please  you,  good,  sweet  aunt,  you  return 
with  me  toShottery  on  the  instant." 

The  tender-hearted  Joan  stopped  not  for 
questioning.  Leaving  the  child  to  the  sym- 
pathy of  her  guests  she  flew  for  such  things 
as  were  needful  for  her  to  put  on  for  the 
journey,  and  before  the  more  inquisitive  of 
the  company  had  extracted,  from  amidst  her 
tears  and  sorrowful  exclamations,  aught  be- 
side her  having  run  all  the  way  over  the 
fields,  without  any  companion,  in  so  dismal 
a  night,  Joan  had  returned  ready  to  start. 
Her  husband  grasped  his  cudgel,  and,  hav- 
ing quickly  lighted  a  lantern,  and  put  him- 
self in  a  like  readiness,  he  bade  his  guests 
"  good-night,"  and  was  soon  anxiously  ac- 
companying the  fair  child  and  his  e.xcellent 
helpmate  into  the  street. 


14 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER  11. 

All  I  have  done  is  little  yet  to  purpose, 

But.  ere  I  leave  him,  I  will  perceive  him  blush  ; 

And  make  him  feel  the  passions  that  I  do. 

And  every  true  lover  will  assist  me  in't, 

And  send  me  their  sad  sighs  to  blow  it  home. 

For  Cupid  wants  a  dart  to  wound  this  bosom. 

The  Laws  of  Candy. 
Fred.  She's  free  as  you  or  I  am,  and  may  have, 
By  that  prerogative,  a  liberal  choice 
In  tlie  bestowing  of  her  love. 
Lod.  Bestowing  ? 

If  it  be  so,  she  has  bestowed  herself 
Upon  a  trim  youth. 

The  Captain. 

The  musician  sat  turning  of  his  cittern, 
close  upon  where  sat  an  ancient  gentle- 
woman, with  whom  it  was  evident  he  was 
not  only  upon  terms  of  some  intimacy,  but, 
if  looks  and  courteous  words  denote  aught, 
the  e.xquisite  and  very  vehement  gallantry 
of  his  manner  towards  her  had  touched  har 
affections  somewhat.  Of  a  verity,  he  was 
a  man  like  enough  to  impress  a  woman's 
heart  with  a  sense  of  the  most  absolute  af- 
fectionateness,  for  not  only  had  he  in  visage 
and  person  such  gifts  as  are  usually  all- 
powerful  with  a  fair  lady,  the  which  were 
set  ofT  in  a  very  gallant,  peach-colored  suit, 
with  a  cloak  of  murray  velvet,  faced  with 
fur,  and  all  corresponding  appurtenances  ; 
but  there  was  that  in  his  look,  in  his  voice, 
and  in  his  every  motion — albeit  there  was  a 
marvellous  stidhoss  in  the  homage  and  ten- 
derness with  which  he  appeared  to  regard 
his  companion,  that  smacked  of  an  age  gone 
by — that  spoke  him  to  be  of  no  common 
sort. 

Certes,  the  tall,  antiquated,  stately  dame, 
who  looked  into  his  eyes  with  so  manifest  a 
conceit  of  ecstacy,  was  not  of  that  proper 
condition  that  would  in  ordinary  cases  at- 
tract so  admirable  a  gallant.  She  lacked 
youth  most  abominably  ;  and  of  charms  had 
she  no  more  than  would  serve  to  show  she 
was  not  quite  a  dressed-up-anatomy.  Her 
parchment  visage — albeit  there  was  paint 
enough  on  it  to  have  done  some  service  to- 
wards creating  any  Red  Lion  or  flaming 
PhcEni.x  worthy  of  being  the  pride  of  the 
whole  city — only  gave  signs  of  life  in  the 
constant  trick  she  had  of  forcing  her  mouth, 
which  resembled  a  hole  in  a  hose  that  had 
been  horribly  boggled  in  the  mending,  into 
the  fashion  of  smiling  ;  and  in  the  no  less 
continual  habit  of  hers,  of  raising  her 
sunken  eyes  from  the  edge  of  her  robe,  that 
Btood  out  all  around  her  stiff  as  any  board,  un- 
to those  of  the  handsome  musician,  and  then 


as  suddenly  letting  them  fall  to  renew  their 
long  acquaintance  with  the  fading  pattern 
of  her  dress. 

Her  close  vest  and  round  ruff,  her  long 
waist  and  stiff  farthingale,  her  lace  cuffs 
and  trimmings,  with  her  gown  of  faded 
satin,  looked  as  though  done  on  stone  ;  and, 
had  it  not  been  for  a  sort  of  palsy,  which 
she  strove  to  disguise  by  keeping  her  chin 
fixed  in  her  left  hand,  as  though  it  were  in 
a  pillory,  that  gave  her  head  an  inconstant 
humor  of  motion,  the  curls  of  her  perriwig 
—  set  with  streamers  in  the  old  Venetian 
fashion,  with  a  feather  at  the  side — might 
as  easily  have  passed  for  a  cunning  piece  of 
statuary.  Her  right  hand,  however,  par- 
took not  of  such  stillness  ;  for,  though  it 
was  close  on  winter,  and  a  pleasant  fire  of 
logs  was  burning  on  the  fire  beside  her, 
she  kept  it  beating  the  air  with  a  huge  fan 
very  vigorously;  ever  and  anon  furling 
it  quickly,  and  tapping  of  her  companion 
playfully,  or  shaking  it  at  him,  when  his 
compliments  seemed  to  her  to  have  a  mean- 
ing in  them  which  appealed  somewhat  too 
directly  to  her  too  susceptible  nature. 

"  Nay,  Master  Dulcimer,  thou  must  in- 
deed," exclaimed  the  dame,  with  an  exceed- 
ing earnestness,  furling  her  fan  briskly,  and 
then  as  rapidly  opening  it  to  the  full  display 
of  a  most  moving  scene  from  the  romance 
of  Launcelot  du  Lac,  painted  thereon. 

"  By  those  divine  and  love-darting  orbs, 
I  am  in  no  voice,"  replied  the  musician,  in 
a  tone  of  exquisite  melancholy,  as  he  struck 
two  or  three  tender  chords  upon  his  instru- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  thou  silly  flatterer,  thou  !"  cried  she, 
shaking  her  closed  fan  at  him,  though  with 
a  smirk  on  her  visage  that  would  have  as- 
sured a  less  observant  spectator  she  was 
well  pleased  at  such  language.  "  But,  pry- 
thee,  tell  me  not  thy  voice  is  like  to  fail 
thee,  for  I  have  set  my  heart  on  hearing 
this  ballad." 

"  A  villanous  cold,  an  it  please  you, 
sweetest  lady,"  said  the  gallant,  bending, 
over  his  cittern  to  the  complete  hiding  hi^ 
face  for  the  nonce  from  the  keenness  of  her 
looks,  as  he  added,  in  a  sort  of  passionate 
whisper,  "  Sooth  to  say,  the  foolish  liking  I 
have  for  singing  o'nights  under  the  chamber 
that  holds  such  a  pearl  of  price,  hath  occa- 
sioned me  so  monstrous  a  hoarseness,  I 
doubt  I  have  more  notes  than  a  cuckoo." 

"  Dear  heart,  thou  shalt  have  a  posset  on 
the  instant !"  exclaimed  the  enamored 
dame,  rising  with  as  much  state  in  her 
movements  as  tenderness  in  her  looks. 

"  Nay,  by  this  heavenly  light,  I  will  never 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


15 


allow  it,  sweet  Mistress  Deborah !"  cried 
the  musician,  suddenly  rising  with  a  famous 
humility  in  his  countenance.  "  I  am  scarce 
fit  to  be  noticed  of  such  excellence." 

"  Thy  hoarseness  must  be  cured,  Master 
Dulcimer,"  said  the  lady,  curtseying  to  the 
very  ground  to  the  low  bending  of  the  gal- 
lant before  her,  as  he  with  the  deepest  air  of 
reverence  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  back  to 
her  seat,  from  which  she  had  got  a  pace  or 
two.  "  Believe  me.  Master  Dulcimer,  'tis 
the  exquisitest  posset  ever  made — the  sove- 
reignest  thing  on  earth  for  a  hoarseness. 
Her  gracious  highness  Queen  Mary,  of  glo- 
rious memory  hath  oft  applied  to  my  poor 
ability  for  the  concocting  of  it,  and  hath  ex- 
pressed wonderful  comfort  ere  she  had 
scarce  swallowed  a  mouthful." 

"  I  should  scorn  myself  ever  after,  could 
I  sutfer  my  humbleness  to  be  raised  by  such 
matchless  goodness,  to  taste  what  tlie  high- 
est of  the  land  must  have  been  but  too  proud 
to  have  enjoyed  at  such  fair  hands." 

"  They  were  well  pleased  enough  doubt- 
less, Master  Dulcimer.  Not  only  her  late 
Highness,  who  honored  me  with  many  to- 
kens of  her  most  princely  regard,  but  that 
puissant  and  most  excellent  sovereign  Henry 
the  Eighth,  and  his  sweet  son,  the  young 
King  Edward,  who  is  now  a  saint  in  Heav- 
en, as  likewise  her  present  Highness  the 
Queen's  Majesty^,  hath  granted  me  many 
precious  favors  ;  for,  as  thou  art  I  know 
well  acquainted,  I  have  lived  among  princes 
and  nobles  all  my  days." 

"  Of  a  surety,  thit  accounteth  for  the 
princely  and  noble  air  thou  possesseth  so 
completely." 

"  In  sooth  I  know  not,"  said  the  lady  with 
another  majestic  bend  to  the  ground,  in  re- 
turn for  one  of  a  like  kind  which  followed 
the  civil  speech  of  her  gallant.  "  But  thy 
hoarseness,  Master  Dulcimer,  getteth  no 
remedy  all  this  while.  As  it  hath  been  got 
in  my  service,  I  cannot  but  endeavor  its 
cure  with  all  speed." 

At  this  she  was  again,  in  all  the  dignity 
of  a  queen,  sweeping  forward  to  procure  the 
promised  posset,  when  the  musician  once 
more,  with  a  reverence  even  more  respect- 
ful, and  a  concern  more  absolute  than  he 
exhibited  on  the  previous  occasion,  took  her 
hand  with  many  fine  spun  expressions  of 
humbleness,  and  led  her  back  to  her  seat. 
A  little  more  stately  colloquy  followed,  full 
of  flattery  on  one  side,  and  of  vanity  on  the 
other.  But  as  the  speech  of  Master  Dulci- 
mer was  evidently  getting  terribly  thick,  till 
it  became  more  like  the  croaking  of  a  raven 
than  the  voice  of  a  gallant,  she  became 
monstrous  eager  the  posset  should  be  tried. 


At  last  when  she  found  the  flattering  hu- 
mility of  her  companion  was  in  no  way  to 
be  moved,  and  possibly  in  some  measure 
tired  of  the  many  bendings  to  the  floor,  her 
notions  of  proper  ceremony  bade  her  make 
in  return  for  the  many  equally  lowly  her 
gallant  honored  her  with  at  every  fine 
speech,  a  thought  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
entered  into  her  head,  the  which,  had  she 
not  been  so  intent  on  the  sweet  things  she 
heard,  would  have  found  a  place  there  at  the 
very  first. 

"  By  my  fay,  I  had  clean  forgot !"  said 
she  ;  then  raising  her  voice  to  a  pitch  some- 
what of  the  sharpest,  she  cried,  "  Mistress 
Varnon !  haste,  1  prythee,  and  make  a  pos- 
set for  worthy  Master  Dulcimer." 

This  speech  was  directed  to  a  most  comely 
maiden,  who  stood  concealed  from  view  in 
one  of  the  deep  windows.  Possibly  she 
had  gone  there  for  the  better  seeing  some 
music  she  held  in  her  hand  ;  and  perchance 
the  youth  at  her  side  was  offering  what  as- 
sistance he  had  at  his  commanduient  in  the 
proper  understanding  of  it,  but  methinks,  if 
this  had  been  the  case,  there  had  been  no 
such  need  as  there  seemed  for  the  passion- 
ate words  that  one  gave  the  other,  and  the 
deep  fondness  which  shone  in  their  looks, 
and  in  their  exceeding  closeness.  Surely, 
it  needed  not  the  youth's  hand  locked  in  that 
of  the  maiden,  whilst  the  other  arm  encom- 
passed her  girdle  with  so  firm  a  pressure, 
her  little  ruflf  ever  and  anon  seemed  like  to 
be  crushed  against  his  jerkin,  for  the  proper 
understanding  of  music  of  any  kind ;  but 
this  was  not  all.  These  two,  it  was  evi- 
dent, had  been  as  regardless  of  the  anti- 
quated dame  and  her  formal  gallant,  as  were 
that  goodly  pair,  of  them.  Their  loving 
dialoj;ue,  for  such  it  was  out  of  all  doubt,  so 
tilled  every  sense,  not  only  were  their  com- 
panions lost  sight  of,  but  of  the  whole  world 
were  they  in  a  like  forgetfulness. 

"  Methinks  it  cannot  but  be  wrong,  my 
dear  lord,"  murmured  the  blushing  maiden, 
her  heart  beating  against  her  lover's  breast, 
like  a  bird  newly  caged  fluttering  the  bars 
of  its  prison-house.  "  'Tis  true  aunt  De- 
borah useth  me  with  exceeding  harshness, 
but  I  can  scarce  reconcile  me  to  the  part 
your  friend  is  playing,  which  cannot  but  end 
in  her  great  unhappiness,  and  to  leave  her 
in  a  state  of  such  terrible  disappointment  as 
must  needs  come  of  it,  when  all  is  discover- 
ed, looketh  to  me  cruel  and  unmaidenly." 

"  Tush,  sweet  heart !"  exclaimed  the  dis- 
guised gallant,  pressing  her  to  him  more 
fondly.  "  The  usage  you  have  at  her  hands 
is  such,  that  for  it  nothing  can  be  too  great 
a  punishment.     She  hath  employed  her  ut- 


16 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


most  for  the  complete  marring  of  your  hap- 
piness, merely  because  tiie  Q,ueen  liketli  not 
my  Lord  Southampton  to  marry,  and  so 
leave  lier  with  one  servant  the  less,  of  whom 
she  can  command  attentions  that  in  her  old 
age  she  should  have  never  thought  of;  and 
to  be  in  favor  witii  her  Highness,  Dame  De- 
borah, hath  not  only  done  me  all  manner  of 
ill  othces  with  the  Queen,  but  hath  spoke 
of  you  to  her  in  so  horrible,  infamous  a  man- 
ner, as  your  pure  heart  can  have  no  notion 
of." 

"  In  very  sooth  now,  dear  Wriothesley, 
hath  she  done  me  this  huge  unkindness?" 
earnestly  inquired  his  indignant  mistress, 
whilst  big  tears  trembling  on  the  long  lashes 
of  her  fair  eyes  did  most  eloquently  speak 
her  sense  of  her  kinswoman's  injustice. 

"  As  I  live,  my  sweeting,  'tis  so !"  re- 
plied the  youth  with  a  like  earnestness.  "  I 
was  told  of  it  by  one  who  was  present,  and 
I  shortly  after  received  of  tiie  Queen  a  sharp 
rating,  with  numberless  proud  peremptory 
terms,  for  paying  any  sort  of  heed  to  one  so 
discreditably  spoken  of." 

The  lashes  of  the  fair  listener  became  so 
heavily  laden  with  those  most  choice  pearls, 
that  they  could  noJonger  have  footing  there, 
and  came  stealing  over  her  downy  cheek  as 
if  well  inclined  to  linger  upon  such  dainty 
ground. 

"  Sweetest  life !"  whispered  her  lover 
with  increased  vehemency  of  love  at  the 
sight  of  her  tears.  "  There  is  no  bearing 
this  monstrous  tyranny.  Will's  stratagem 
is  the  very  properest  stratagem  that  could 
have  been  devised,  for  without  it  how  could 
I  have  had  access  to  thee,  my  life  !  my 
heart!  for  a  single  instant? — and  'tis  her 
own  unconsionable  vanity  that  is  to  blame, 
if  she  take  to  heart  at  the  discovery,  the  be- 
ing made  so  absolute  a  gull.  But  1  am  as- 
sured no  harm  will  come  of  it.  Her  heart 
is  as  stiff  as  her  stomacher,  and  she  hath 
about  as  much  feeling  as  hath  the  oak  Hoor 
she  passeth  over  with  so  stately  a  step." 

Mistress  Varnon  wiped  away  the  tears 
that  rested  on  her  cheeks,  as  though  they 
meant  to  settle  there  all  their  days  •,  but  she 
attempted  not  any  sort  of  reply. 

"  On  the  knees  of  my  heart,  I  beseech 
thee  secure  my  happiness!"  continued  the 
devoted  lover,  pressing  the  trembling  girl  to 
him  with  a  greater  shew  of  afFectionatenes 
than  ever.  "  I  have  all  things  in  readiness 
it  needeth  but  thy  consent  to  be  free  for  ever 
of  the  infimous  slanders,  and  continual  ty- 
rannies to  which  thou  hath  of  late  been  sub- 
jected." 

The  looks  of  Mistress  Varnon  were  fixed 
on  the  floor,  and  an  expression  of  indecision 


appeared  to  linger  over  her  exquisite  sweet 
countenance,  but  her  heart  was  beating  fas- 
ter than  she  thought  any  heart  had  done, 
since  the  world  was  made. 

"  Do  I  not  love  thee,  a  thousand  times 
better  than  life  !"  murmured  the  young  no- 
bleman in  a  tone  of  tender  melancholy,  it 
was  scarce  possible  for  one  of  her  loving  na- 
ture to  listen  to  unmoved.  "  In  honest  truth, 
my  whole  soul  is  so  wrapt  in  thy  infinite 
perfections,  if  thou  deny  me  the  precious 
gift  of  them,  I  shall  take  such  a  hatred  to 
my  miserable  life,  I  will  to  Ireland  on  the 
instant,  in  the  hope  some  rebellious  kern 
may  help  me  to  a  speedy  riddance  of  it." 

"  Nay,  that  thou  shalt  never  do,"  replied 
the  loving  maiden,  in  tones  so  soft  and  low, 
and  trembling  withal,  they  could  scarce  be 
heard. 

"  Wilt  consent,  then,  my  sweeting,  to 
what  I  have  in  my  exceeding  love  for  thee 
proposed?"  asked  her  lover,  witli  a  look 
that  spoke  how  much  depended  on  her  an- 
swer. Her  lips  just  opened,  and  at  the  same 
moment  her  head  drooped  upon  his  shoulder. 
The  reply  can  only  be  guessed  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  was  received.  The  lover 
pressed  his  fair  companion  in  an  embrace, 
that  seemed  not  likely  to  be  ended  shortly  ; 
and  he  only  raised  his  lips  from  the  rosy 
resting-place  they  had  found  witliout  any 
effort  at  resistance,  when  her  name,  repeated 
in  her  aunt's  sharpest  tone,  and  a  warning 
cough  from  Master  Dulcimer,  awakened 
the  devoted  maiden  from  a  sense  of  bliss  to 
which  she  had  given  herself  up,  heart  and 
suul. 

Recovering  as  quickly  as  she  could  the 
music  that  had  dropped  from  her  hand  in 
the  ecstacy  of  her  feelings,  she  was  busily 
pointing  out  to  her  lover,  seemingly  equally 
intent  on  the  notes  as  herself,  a  passage 
which  they  were  trying  in  a  low  voice, 
when  the  tall  figure  of  her  kinswoman, 
handed  along  by  the  disguised  music-mas- 
ter, with  a  formality  tliat  made  any  great 
speed  impossible,  came  upon  their  hiding- 
place. 

"  Excellent  proper  scholars,  o'  my  life  !" 
exclaimed  the  pretended  Master  Dulcimer. 
"  Mistress  Varnon  proveth  herself  worthy 
of  the  lessons  of  her  most  admirable  sweet 
mistress." 

Here  followed  the  courteous  bend  that 
closed  every  such  sugared  compliment — the 
which  of  necessity  was  acknowledged  by 
another  from  the  lady  equally  ceremonious. 

"  In  sooth,  Master  Dulcimer,  I  must  needs 
own  she  is  a  close  scholar,  and  an  apt,"  re- 
plied the  antiquated  virgin ;  the  suspicions 
excited,  and  the  sharp  reproof  she  had  pre- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


17 


pared,  changing,  in  conscquenco  of  the 
timely  flattery,  inio  smiles  nnd  good  will. 
"  And  she  hath  of  late  so  liked  the  singing 
of  madrigals,  she  is  no  le-is  impatient  than 
am  1  for  the  coming  of  your.self  and  boy  to 
help  us  in  the  indulgence  of  this  exquisite 
rarj  pastime.  Bat  I  mast  not  let  aught  in- 
terfere with  the  curing  of  your  hoarseness. 
Go,  Mistress  Varnan,  use  thy  utmost  skill 
in  t!ie  making  of  my  choice  pcssel  ;  prjpxro 
it  with  all  proper  speed  ;  and  take  wilh  thee 
Master  Dulcimer's  boy  into  the  garden  to 
help  thee  gather  the  herbs  that  are  neces- 
sary in  the  making  of  it." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  young  lovers 
were  more  pleased  to  escape  from  the  room, 
than  was  the  statsly  spinster  to  get  rid  of 
them.  Sh3  had  a  little  scheme  in  her  mind, 
intended  to  force  her  companion  into  a  cou- 
fe^siim  of  the  uuconquerablo  passion  she 
fancied  she  had  inspired  him  with,  fur, 
though  he  had  said  many  tender  and  gallant 
things,  she  had  heard  nothing  of  a  sort  to  be 
compared  with  the  intensity  of  her  own  af- 
fection ;  but  his  reservedncss  she  attributed 
to  his  modesty.  She  couKi  not  believe  him 
to  be  no  better  than  a  poor  mu.sieian.  In 
her  own  mind  there  was  no  conviction  so 
perfect  as  that  he  was  some  prince  or  other, 
so  smitten  with  her  attractions,  as  to  wil- 
lingly saek  disguise  to  obtain  the  pleisure 
of  her  sweet  society.  His  appearance,  his 
manners,  and  his  language,  she  had  for 
some  time  passed,  pronounced  to  be  as  a 
long  acquaintance  with  conr:s  could  alone 
obtain  ;  and  in  this  rare  delu  iion  she  fooled 
herself  to  the  top  of  her  bent. 

S!ie  considered  that  he  wanted  encour- 
agement, and  that  nothing  could  afford  it  so 
well  as  adecliration  of  hjr  feelings  in  his 
favor.  How  to  bring  this  about  in  a  dis- 
creet and  maidenly  manner  she  had  long 
thought  of,  and  at  last  satisfied  herself  she 
had  conceived  a  plan  excellently  well  adapt- 
ed for  her  purpose.  She  had  scarce  well 
rid  herself  of  her  exquisite  fair  niece  and 
her  disguised  lover,  when  she  turned  a  gaz  j 
upon  her  companion  of  such  inlinite  atlec- 
tionateness,  as  no  language  can  do  justice 
to,  whereupon,  meeting  his  bright  glance, 
in  the  which  lurked — though  she  saw  it  not 
— a  look  of  sly  pleasantry,  she  as  suddenly 
cast  her  eyes  to  the  gn.und,  and  sighed  as 
though  her  heart  must  needs  break  in  a  pre- 
sently. 

Tiie  seeming  musician  regarded  her  for 
a  moinent  with  some  ^ort  of  compassionate- 
ness,  as  though  loath  to  carry  the  deception 
funher;  but  the  very  absolut:;  ridiculous- 
ness of  the  love-sick  anatomy  before  hitn, 
together  with  what  he  knew  of  her  infamous 


behavior  to  her  gentle  kinswoman,  and  a 
remembrance  of  how  co  npletely  the  hippi- 
n;^ss  of  two  young  and  amiable  people  de- 
pended on  his  successfully  carrying  on  the 
jest,  satisfied  his  conscience  for  the  nonee  ; 
and  furnishing  his  looks  with  the  proper 
gravity,  and  his  carriage  with  the  customa- 
ry starchness,  he  bowed  himself  upon  her 
hand,  which  he  took  into  his  own  with  a 
monstrou-:  show  of  gallantry,  and  in  words 
of  the  movingest  sort,  requested,  as  he  was 
denied  the  most  sweet  delight  of  entertain- 
ing her  with  his  voice,  she  would,  out  of  iier 
marvellous  condescension,  lap  his  spirit  in 
that  rapture  he  never  f^iiled  to  enjoy  to  an 
exquisite  excess,  when  listening  to  her  in- 
comparable performance. 

The  only  reply  she  give  was  conveyed  in 
a  sort  of  hysteric  sob — a  sudden  casting  of 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  as  sudden  a  clasping 
in  both  her  own  of  the  hand  of  her  gallant — 
tlien  a  look  at  him  brimming  over  w.tli  af- 
fectionateness — and  lastly,  a  sudden  move- 
ment with  stateliest  step>,  her  eyes  tixed  on 
hiua  all  the  way — to  the  virginals. 

'•Oh,  Master  Dulcimer  !"  exclaimed  she, 
in  a  most  j)erturbed  voice  as  she  sunk  on 
the  seat  that  stojd  before  Ihat  instrument. 

Mister  Dulcimer  said  never  a  word  ;  for, 
having  seated  her,  and  m  ide  his  leg  with 
the  gravity  expected  of  him,  he  was  dili- 
gently employing  biniielf  in  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  Thomas  Morley's  "  First  13,'joke 
of  B  diets  to  tive  Voyces,"  wliich,  with  va- 
rious other  madrigal-:,  pi?torils,  roundelays, 
ayres,  and  catches  by  John  Beimett,  Thomas 
VVeelkes  Jolm  Farmer,  William  Bird,  John 
Dowland,  and  John  Widiye;  with  a  goodly 
heap  of  older  works  by  Sneryngham,  Divy, 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas  Phillip-;,  Fairfax, 
Cornish,  Turges,  Tudor,  and  Banister,  were 
partly  on  the  virginals,  and  on  a  stand  ad- 
joining. 

Wiiilst  thus  employed,  Aunt  Deborah  had 
time  to  recover  in  some  measure  from  the 
intense  pleasurable  bewilderment  into  which 
her  gallant  h  id  thrown  her,  and,  with  an  ex- 
ceedmg  aud.ble  sigh,  and  a  marvellous  lov- 
ing glance,  she  began  a  few  bars  of  quaint 
and  pleasing  sym  )liony.  Ere  she  had  pro- 
ceeded far,  however,  she  stopped. 

"  In  sooth,"  she  murmured,  with  a  smile 
that  might  have  been  beco  ni  ng  enough 
some  forty  years  before  ;  "  in  very  sooth,  I 
know  not  what  to  sing." 

"  Such  exqnis.te  sweet  singing  as  thou 
singest  at  all  times,"  replied  her  companion, 
somewhat  enamoredly,  '•  rendereth  the 
choice  of  but  slight  concern.  Be  assured, 
whatever  pleaseth  thee  to  sing,  shall  inti- 
nitely  please  me  to  hear." 


18 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"Excellent  Master  Dulcimer!"  exclnim- 
ed  his  antiquated  mistress,  in  a  very  fervor. 

'•  H  itft  thou  no  moving  ballad,  most  ad- 
mirable JNIistross  Doboraii — notouchino-  dit- 
ty thit  should  express,  witli  a  natur.il  force, 
die  desperate  passion  of  some  love-lorn 
heart .'     llast  thou — " 

'•  UaV3  [  not,  sweetest  Master  D;ilcimer!" 
replied  the  lady,  clasping  her  hands  power- 
fully togctiier",  and  talcing  another  sharp 
scrutiny  of  the  ceiling. 

"  A  song  of  such  ravishing  sort  must 
needs  command  my  very  deepest  attentive- 
ness,"  observed  tiie  disguised  musician. 

"  But  it  is  one  of  my  poor  contrivance," 
whi-pered  Aunt  Deborah,  her  look  again 
downcast.  "  A  tritle,  a  very  trifle,  dear 
Master  Dulcimer,  which  thy  superior  skill 
cannot  but  despise." 

How  t!ie  gentleman  protested  the  great- 
ness of  his  opinion  of  any  production  from 
such  a  source,  may  readily  be  imagined  ; 
and  the  mod.vst  dei)reciation  with  which  the 
lady  spoke  of  her  performance  ere  she  could 
be  got  to  commence  the  singing  of  it,  it 
neecleth  no  great  stretch  of  fancy  neither  to 
have  a  proper  notion  of.  Suffice  it,  that, 
after  many  delays,  a  wonderful  display  of 
affection  in  lior  looks,  and  with  a  constant 
fire  of  sigh-;  thut  ought  to  have  melted  the 
most  obdurate  heart.  Aunt  Deborah  betook 
herself  to  her  instrument,  and,  in  a  voice 
of  the  shrillest,  commenced  the  following 
words : 

AUNT  DEBORAH'S  DITTY. 

"Honey-sweet  lips! — Most  tempting  fruit  that 
groweth, 
Fain  would  I  taste,  if  tasting  there  might  be  : 
Honey-sweet    lips  I — Most    rosy    flower    that 
bloweth, 
Fain  would  I  own,  if  such  might  bloom  for 
me. 
Oh,  doleful  strait  I — ^^The  tree  doth  grow  so  high, 
I  juight  o'er-reach,  would  I  such  fruit  devour  ; 
Oh,  sad  mischance  1 — The  plant  so  low  doth  lie, 
I  fear  to  fall  stooping  to  pluck  the  flower. 
Honey-sweet  lips !" 

It  was  with  a  great  to  do  the  disguised 
master  of  music  kept  the  grave  and  deeply- 
attentive  visage  he  had  all  along  command- 
ed ;  for,  in  sober  truth,  the  very  monstrous 
pasftionateness  put  on  by  the  starched  and 
ceremonious  maid  of  honor  to  Her  High- 
ness Q,aeen  Mary,  of  sanguinary  memory, 
was  so  extremely  ridiculous,  that  any  ordi- 
n.iry  man  might  have  laughed  his  head  off 
ere  liis  mind  would  have  well  got  rid  of  the 
humor  it  would  have  put  him  into.  Such 
Uirmng  up  of  eyes — now  to  her  companion, 


and  anon  to  that  part  of  the  ceiling  that  was 
directly  above  her  head — such  sugared  looks 
that  no  conserve  could  have  been  half  so 
sweet,  had  not  the  vessel  that  furnished  them 
had  more  in  it  of  the  fashion  of  the  empty 
gallipot  than  of  any  such  tempting  cates  as 
good  housewife's  do  put  in  them  —  such 
smiles  of  inlinite  love  as  must  have  pene- 
trated the  very  core  of  a  millstone,  had  they 
beamed  on  any  thing  human,  of  whatsoever 
sort,  more  desirable  than  the  shrivelled-up 
lips  from  which  they  originated  —  such 
blushes  of  modest  bashfulness,  a  tithe  of 
which  would  have  sufficed  the  wants  of  St. 
Ursula's  eleven  thousand  in  any  extremity 
— such  sighs  as  no  undone  church-organ 
ever  gav«  ,  whereof  the  bellows  lacked  wind 
beyond  all  toleration — such  devotion,  such 
prudence,  such  longing,  such  coyness,  such 
hope,  such  doubt,  and  such  fear,  were  never 
exhibited  in  the  singing  of  any  ditty  since 
the  beginning  of  time. 

Nevertheless,  the  assumed  Master  Dulci- 
mer leaned'  on  the  virginals  ovei  against  the 
singer,  beating  of  the  time  as  it  were  with 
his  hand,  and  seeming  to  be  quite  rapt  with 
such  bewitching  minstrelsy — albeit,  his  mid- 
riff was  in  extreme  jeopardy  with  his  ef- 
forts to  restrain  his  mirth.  Peradventure, 
he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  though 
he  had  no  lack  of  encouragement  so  to  do, 
for  speech  gave  he  none  at  all ;  yet  the  suf- 
fusion of  liis  eyes,  which  arose  from  his 
powerful  struggle  to  preserve  his  gravity, 
was  regarded  by  the  love-sick  Aunt  Debo- 
rah as  a  sure  sign  her  ditty  had  touched 
him  to  the  quick,  and  after  a  short  pause  to 
allow  time  for  it  to  produce  its  due  efiect, 
she  proceeded : 

SECOND    VERSE. 

"  Tempt   mc   no   more  ! — With  excellence   so 

winning, 

Scarce  can  I  look,  and  not  as  soon  be  won  ; 

Tempt  me  no  more  1 — Though  knowing  nought 

of  sinning, 

With  such  sweet  sin  I  needs  must  be  undone. 

Oh,  sunless  joy  ! — Methinks  these  sugared  baita 

Do  hold  to  me  an  unresisting  lure  ; 
Oh,   nameless   bliss  I — -Methinks   there  honor 
waits, 
With  honest  bonds  to  make  my  wish  secure. 
Honey-sweet  lips !" 

Nature  could  hold  out  no  longer.  The 
assumed  Master  Dulcimer  was  just  on  the 
point  of  giving  way  to  those  powerful  in- 
clinations he  had  with  such  huge  difficulty 
withheld,  when,  as  the  singer,  with  amoroug 
sio-hs,  and  looks,  blushes  and  smiles,  a 
thousand  times  more  exquisitely  ridiculous 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


19 


than  those  which  accompanied  the  singing 
of  the  first  verse,  closed  her  ditty — as  it  the 
pent-up  passion  she  had  so  long  kept  within 
proper  bounds  had  now  burst  its  barriers — 
she  had  no  sooner  got  to  the  last  note  than, 
with  an  energy  that  nigh  pressed  the  breath 
out  of  his  body,  she  on  a  sudden  threw  her- 
self forward  into  his  arms,  and  doubtless 
would,  if  she  had  dared,  hive  helped  herself 
right  libsrally  to  the  tempting  objects  that 
had  formed  the  burthen  of  her  song. 

The  gallant  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  he 
could  do  nothing  against  such  an  assault 
but  struggle  as  he  best  could  to  get  free  ; 
certes.  Aunt  Deborah  had  got  so  close  a  hold 
of  him,  and  he  was  placed  in  so  exceeding 
awkward  a  position,  his  liberation  looked  to 
be  no  easy  matter.  At  last  it  came  with  a 
quickness  he  h  id  hardly  dared  to  hope. 

Whil.st  he  was  tugging  and  twisting  with 
more  vigor  than  gallantry  to  rid  himself  of 
the  embrace  of  his  antiquated  mistress,  the 
door  of  the  chamber  was  suddenly  burst 
open,  and  there  rushed  into  the  room,  seem- 
ingly oat  of  breath  with  the  speed  he  had 
used  in  getting  into  it,  the  long-legged,  iron- 
visaged,  ancient  serving-man,  that  was  at 
once  her  steward,  groom  of  the  chambers, 
gardener,  bailiff,  cellarer,  clerk  of  the  kitch- 
en, running-footman,  and  a  good  score  of 
other  callings,  and  had  been  so  ever  since 
he  could  clean  a  trencher,  empty  a  flask,  or 
grow  a  salad. 

That  he  was  intent  on  the  saying  of  some- 
thing of  the  very  utmost  consequence  there 
could  be  no  manner  of  doubt;  nouglit  but 
the  Dlost  absolute  necessity  could  ever  have 
induced  a  serving-man,  u-ed  to  the  rigoVous 
formalities  of  so  stern  a  mistress,  to  break 
into  her  privacy  in  so  rude  a  manner  as  he 
had  done.  He  would  himself  have  thought 
the  world  was  at  an  end,  had  he  dared  to  do 
so  on  any  common  occasion.  But,  what- 
ever was  his  intent,  of  a  surety  he  said 
nothing,  for  he  had  scarce  got  well  into  the 
room,  when  he  stopped  short  in  his  speed  as 
though  he  had  seen  a  basilisk. 

He,  who  had  ever  regarded  the  stately 
Aunt  Deborah  with  an  awe  scarcely  less 
than  that  he  would  have  felt  standing  in  the 
presence  of  the  Queen's  Highness,  and 
would  as  soon  have  expected  to  have  dis- 
covered the  grave  Lord  Biirghley  cutting 
purses  in  Tothill  Fields,  as  his  proud  and 
formal  old  mistress  allowing  of  the  most  in- 
nocent familiarity  from  an  individual  of  the 
opposite  sex,  even  had  he  been  a  prince,  be- 
held her  in  a  situation  with  so  mean  a  per- 
son as  a  singing-master,  which,  to  put  on  it 
the  most  charitable  construction,  was  ex- 
ceeding equivocal.     He  was  struck  dumb 


with  surprise  and  consternation,  and  stood 
with  mouth  wide  agape,  and  eyes  staring 
with  all  their  power. 

But  how  did  Aunt  Deborah  take  this  un- 
timely interruption  ?  At  sight  of  her  serv- 
ing man,  from  whom  she  had  exacted  the 
respect  due  from  one  having  absolute  power 
and  empire,  slae  was  nigh  ready  to  die  with 
rage,  vexation,  and  pride.  She  who  had 
set  herself  up  as  so  immaculate,  of  such 
wondrous  dignity,  of  such  unparalleled  per- 
fection in  all  things,  as  one  so  infinitely  su- 
perior to  those  around  her — she  was  not  to 
be  approached  without  every  possible  show 
of  humility  and  reverence  ;  to  be  detected 
by  her  own  serving-man  in  an  act  so  op- 
j)osed  to  her  former  bearing,  as  having  ten- 
der dalliance  with  a  gallant,  was  shame  un- 
speakable. The  offence  of  finding  her  under 
such  circumstances  would  at  any  time  have 
been  beyond  forgiveness — bearing  the  rude 
character  the  old  man's  intrusion  did,  it  was 
deadly. 

The  affectionate  old  spinster  resumed  her 
starched  appearance  with  what  facility  she 
could,  and  livid  with  shame  and  anger,  she 
glared  upon  the  bewildered  and  terrnied  do- 
mestic. "  Begon*,  rascal!"  cried  she,  in 
tliose  deep  tones  that  express,  much  more 
than  violent,  loud  exclamations  of  any  sort, 
the  powerful  feelings  under  which  the 
speaker  is  laboring.  "  Out  of  my  house  ! 
Pack,  on  the  instant  I  An  I  see  thy  villa- 
nous  visage  another  hour,  I  will  have  thee 
scourged  out  of  my  presence  !" 

"  But,  mistress  ! — prythee  my  lady  !"  ex- 
claimed the  serving-man,  trembling,  and 
pale  with  fear. 

'•  Dost  dare  speak  to  me  ?"  replied  the 
enraged  dame,  stretching  out  her  arm  in 
the  direction  of  the  door ;  then  adding,  in  a 
higher  key,  "Begone,  knave  !"' 

But  to  do  her  bidding  the  poor  man  had 
not  the  power.  His  knees  knocked  togeth- 
er, his  hands  and  head  shoo'c  as  with  the 
palsy,  and  he  looked  as  one  about  to  give 
up  the  ghost. 

"  Strip  off  my  apparelling,  and  tlie  badge 
of  the  Varnons,  and  get  thee  hence  for  an 
unmannerly,  meddling  jacknapes." 

"  But  Mistress  Varnon  hath  run  off  with 
the  musician's  boy,  an  it  please  you  my  la- 
dy!" stammered  out  the  serving-inan,  as 
well  as  his  fear  would  allow  him. 

Aunt  Deborah  gave  a  sudden  start  at  this 
intelligence,  and  her  paleness  was  visible,  in 
despite  of  her  paint. 

'•  What  sayest,  fellow  ?"  demanded  she, 
solemnly.  "  Dost  dare  to  say  a  Varnon  is 
capable  of  such  infamy  ?" 

The  man,  as  he  gained  courage,  told  his 


29 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


tale ;  which  was  to  the  effect  that,  as  he  was 
workin:j;  in  thj  g.irden,  ho  spic.i  the  miisi- 
cim's  boy  and  Alistress  Vartion  in  a  won- 
derful loving  humor,  and  thinking  their  be- 
havior nvirvelloas  strange,  he  kept  an  eye 
on  tlieir  inoveinenis.  'J'bcy  seemed  tor  a 
whil^  to  b)  gitliering  of  herb.?,  but  mule  no 
great  progre.-!s  in  their  labor.  In  their  ram- 
bles they  at  last  came  to  t!ie  wicket  at  the 
bottom  of  tiie  gnrdiui,  and  they  were  so 
loving  and  so  intent  on  cacii  other's  dis- 
course, they  took  no  heed  that  they  were 
watcb?d.  They  presently  opened  the  gate 
and  went  out,  and,  on  the  man's  going  there 
to  see  whit  they  could  be  at,  which  he  did 
not  like  doing  too  quickly,  he  beheld  them 
both  galloping  away  on  Heet  horses. 

Aunt  Deborah  listened  in  a  state  of  breath- 
less amazement,  evidently  in  such  a  rage 
with  her  gentle  kinswoman,  her  anger 
against  the  serving-:nan  was  clean  forgot. 
She  was  uttering  the  bitterest  denunciations 
against  her  for  bringing  such  shame  upon 
her  fimily  by  her  intolerable  infamousness 
in  running  olF  with  so  low  a  person  as  a 
musician's  boy ;  when  her  attendant  having 
obt lined  some  slight  sense  of  security, 
vent  ired  to  say  that  he  believed  the  musi- 
cian's boy  was  no  musician's  boy  at  all,  nor 
any  thing  of  the  sort,  for,  as  ho  was  looking 
after  the  runaways  at  the  gate,  a  swash- 
buckler-looking k-.iave,  in  a  ten-ible  swag- 
gering mood,  came  up  to  him,  and  bade  hiui 
tell  his  mi.-tross  to  be  under  no  concern  for 
the  disippearance  of  the  young  lady,  for 
my  Lord  Southampton  had  her  safe,  and  that 
they  would  be  married  within  five  minutes 
of  their  leaving  the  house.  Moreover,  he 
had  given  him  a  tester,  to  tell  one  Master 
Dulcuner  to  join  his  friend  instantly. 

"  Master  Dulcimer  !"  screamed  his  mis- 
tress, looking  around;  but  if  she  sought 
that  admirable  master  of  music,  her  eyes 
must  have  been  of  a  very  choice  sort  to 
have  seen  him,  considering  that  he  was  then 
on  a  swift  horse,  on  the  track  of  his  young 
friend,  and  the  lovely  partner  of  his  flight, 
having  made  the  best  of  his  way  out  of 
Aunt  Deborah's  house,  as  soon  as  he  found 
himself  released  from  her  too  afl'ectionate 
embrace. 

The  love-sick  virgin  now  saw  that  she 
had  been  cozened.  She  had  managed  to 
regain  her  huge  fan,  and  had  employed  it, 
in  its  wonted  mmner,  with  great  diligence, 
when  she  suddenly  furled  it,  with  a  look  as 
full  of  hate  and  rage  as  might  have  be- 
longed to  a  Medusa,  l)rokc  it  over  the  head 
of  the  astonished  menial,  and  stalked  out  of 
the  room,  desperately  intent  on  vengeance. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Beware,  delighted  poets,  when  you  sing. 
To  welcojne  nature,  iu  the  early  spring. 

Your  uuinerous  feet  not  tread 
The  banks  of  Avon  ;  for  each  flower 
(As  it  ne'er  knew  a  sun  or  shower) 

Hangs  there  the  pensive  head. 

DAVENANT. 

Here  I  lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point. 

Shakspeare. 

"  Now,  dame,  prythee  put  forth  thy  best 
housewifery,  for  amongst  our  company  this 
day  will  be  one  for  whom  I  have  an  especial 
respect." 

"  'Tis  Master  Shakspeare,  then,  I  lay  my 
life  on't." 

"  Ay,  that  is  it,  dame  ;  and  one  more  wor- 
thy of  all  honor  eiiher  amongst  such  as  be 
players,  or  with  folk  of  any  condition,  dis- 
tinction, or  goodness,  whatsoever,  we  are 
not  like  to  see  in  our  time,  I  promise  you." 

"  Marrv,  he  shall  have  the  best  enter- 
tainment we  can  give  him,  and  with  such 
heartiness  of  good-will,  as  he  may,  per- 
..hance,  lack  in  a  braver  feast.  But  who 
have  you  provided  to  meet  him,  sweet  heart? 
for,  methinks,  there  should  be  some  choice 
in  the  company  wliich  one  so  esteemed  is 
required  to  grace." 

"  As  for  that,  dame,  I  can  but  ask  mine 
own  fellows  of  the  Fortune,  most  of  whom 
must  depart  with  me,  on  the  morrow,  for 
Windsor;  and,  though  they  may  not  be  so 
approved  in  their  art  as  those  he  hath  been 
used  to  at  the  Globe,  I  doubt  not  at  all  he 
carelh  for  Ned  Allen  sufficient  to  be  con- 
tent with  the  fellowship  of  such  humbler 
spirits  as  he  is  wont  to  have  at  his  board." 

"  Heaven  be  good  to  him,  for  he  is  a  inost 
sweet  gentleman,  and  his  great  deserts  are 
not  like  to  suffer  discredit  from  aii  honest 
woman's  prayers.  But  it  is  fit  we  should 
have  no  brawlers  nor  breedbates,  nor  ruf- 
tlmg  braggadocios  amongst  us  to  disgrace 
him  and  ourselves;  for,  if  I  mistake  liot 
hugely,  there  are  such  to  be  foiuid  among 
our  friends  of  '  The  Fortune ;'  and  it  will 
as  little  credit  you,  dear  heart,  who,  I  am 
proud  to  say,  hath  as  honest  a  name  in 
liis  calling  as  hath  any  man,  and,  moreover, 
hath  as  fair  a  provision  for  his  living  as 
might  satisfy  some  of  higher  estate,  as  it 
will  honor  a  guest  who,  of  his  eminent 
qualities,  demandeth  at  your  hands  whatev- 
er respect  and  affection  it  may  be  in  your 
power  to  afford." 

"  Well  said,  sweet  heart !  O  my  life,  an 
excellent  proper  speech  !    And  as  it  regard- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


21 


eth  my  state  ana  prospects,  what  you  have 
eaid  b3  as  truj  as  truth  itself,  and  1  thank 
GoJ  for  it,  and  will  naver  abase  his  favor, 
ba  assurad.  Bat  as  to  our  feJows  there  be 
eo.ne,  i  am  afraid,  of  rather  a  graceless 
sort;  nevercheiess,  I  think  not  ot  tuein  so  ill 
that  they  will  show  their  unworthy  humors 
bel'ore  so  true  a  heart  as  Will  rih  iKspeare. 
1  must  njeds  have  iJen  Johnson  for  one." 

"I  sliould  like  him  the  belter,  could  he 
better  govern  himself;  for  he  can  be,  at 
times,  as  excellent  good  company  as  mighc 
be  desir  'd.  liut  he  is  nrjt  free  from  envy 
of  anoJier's  greater  good-fo,'tu:ie,  however 
assured  he  mty  be  of  hiS  worciiiness,  and 
hath  a  boisterous,  rude  way  with  iiim,  at 
times,  that  iooKeth  to  be  ever  intent  on  a 
quarrel." 

"  Nay,  dame,  speak  of  him  not  so  ill.  Ben 
is  a  king,  in  his  way." 

'•  A  king,  i'taith,  that,  ever  and  anon, 
must  needs  be  using  of  his  sceptre  by  way 
of  cudgel,  for  the  betier  showing  of  liis  au- 
thority." 

"Like  enough,  dame;  nevertheless,  he 
is  too  great  a  personage  amongst  us  to  be 
slighted,  and  hi  is,  besides,  well  known  to 
Will,  so  that  we  can  have  no  cause  for 
omitting  him." 

'*  For  mine  own  part,  husband,  I  have  no 
wish  that  way  ;  indeed,  I  have  oft  found  in- 
finite pleasure  in  his  company ;  so  let  him 
come,  oGoii's  name,  only  I  would  be  more 
content  were  1  assured  he  would  come  in  a 
fitting  mood.  But  who  else  shill  you  have 
to  meet  sweet  Master  Shakspjare  .'" 

"  Why,  dame,  I  cannot  but  have  Will 
Byrde ;  he  hath  a  most  exquisite  throat  for 
a  ballad,  of  any  one  of  my  acquaintance ; 
and  Huiiijjhrey  Jetfes,  he  pla3eth  the  viol 
like  a  master  ;  and  John  Sluinke,  he  telleth 
a  good  jest  with  a  marvellous  proper  spirit ; 
and  Tom  Dowton,  he  knoweth  tricks  of 
conjuring  th.it  would  surprise  you  mightily  ; 
and  Wed  Colbrand,  and  Francis  Grace,  and 
Samuel  RowL^y,  they  sing  a  t!iree-part  song 
in  a  manner  which  is  a  delight  to  hear  ;  and 

Gabriel  Spencer " 

"  Surely  that  is  he  who  broke  the  con- 
stable's head." 

"  Ay,  but  none  of  us  are  constables,  sweet 
heart !  so  our  head  will  be  in  no  danger." 

"I  warrant  you.  But  if  he  be  so  vio- 
lently disposed,  one  head  is  like  to  be  no 
more  respected  by  him  than  another." 

"  Fear  nought,  dame.  Gabriel  would  not 
harm  a  mouse  ;  but  there  doth  exist  such 
an  antipathy  between  a  constable  and  a 
player,  that  if  a  cracked  crown  come  of  it, 
it  is  no  marvel ;  and,  peaceable  man  as  I 
am,  if,  of  the  two,  one  is  to  be  hurt,  me- 


thinks  he  should  be  the  constable — there- 
fore Gabriel  d 'serveth  no  blame.  Bjsides, 
he  hath  many  commendable  gifts  which 
should  make  him  good  company.  I'ossibly 
I  may  chance  to  fall  in  with  Ar.uin,  or 
M  is^ye,  or  some  other  choice  spirit,  whose 
tricks  and  jests  cannot  fail  to  gariiiah  our 
entertainment  right  pleasantly." 

"  As  you  will,  dear  heart;  but  fail  not  to 
have  sufficient  recourse  to  your  lute,  which, 
in  my  humble  tliinkiiig,  be  as  delicate  gar- 
nish for  a  friend's  banquet  as  any  honest 
heart  need  desire." 

'•  But  it  is  not  reasonable  all  L^hould  be  so 
good  a  wife.  And  now  I  must  needs  be 
going.  I  have  pressing  bnslne-is.  I  am 
ordered  to  bring  my  dogs  and  bears  to  court, 
for  her  majesty's  games.  Spare  neither 
pains  nor  pence,  Joan.  So  God  be  with 
you!" 

"  Good  bye,  sweet  heart ;  and  if  you  see 
my  father,  1  pray  you  give  him  my  love  and 
duty." 

"  I  will  not  fail,  and  will  strive  to  bring 
him  with  me  to  dinner  ;  for  I  know  he  will 
be  right  glad  to  meet  Master  Shakspeare." 

The  fnregoing  dialogue  had  been  spoken 
by  persons  aiming  at  no  great  pretensions  in 
any  of  those  things  most  commonly  assum- 
ed. They  were  simple  of  heart,  and  simple 
in  manners  ;  had  been  married  long  enough 
to  know  how  to  appreciate  each  other's 
good  qualities,  and  to  conform  completely 
to  each  other's  tastes.  So  contented  a 
cou()le  was  not  often  to  be  met  w.t  i.  They 
had  no  ambition  in  dress,  in  great  co.npany, 
in  tine  furniture,  or  in  gay  livnig;  they 
cared  only  to  be  a  comfort  to  eacii  oiher, 
and  a  source  of  pleasure  to  those  around 
them.  Eiiward  Allen  had  lately  built  a 
playhouse  in  Cripplegate,  which,  as  with  a 
prophetic  eye  to  its  results,  he  named  "The 
Fortune ;"  and,  having  married  ihe  daughter 
of  Phillip  Henslowe,  who  had  realized  a  for- 
tune by  his  gains,  as  the  master  of  a  com- 
pany of  players,  and  of  a  coUecticm  of  dogs, 
bulls,  and  bears,  which  seemed  in  equal 
fiivor,  Allen  found  himself  obliged  to  take  a 
prominent  part  in  both  performances,  and 
was  now  hulloing  on  one  of  his  four-footed 
company  at  Pans  Garden,  and  anon  ap- 
plauding as  favorite  a  biped  at  the  Fortune 
playhouse. 

These  diiferent  pursuits,  at  times,  made 
strange  confusion  in  liis  speech.  They 
would  then  so  mingle  in  his  thoughts,  he 
could  not  mention  them  with  the  qualities 
that  were  singular  to  each  and  every  one, 
but  would  speak  of  one  of  his  best  bears  as 
of  a  most  moving  tragedian  ;  whilst  he,  who 
had  drawn  floods  of  tears  from  a  crowded 


22 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


aiiilionce,  was  mentioned  as  the  bravest 
(loiT  at  his  game  that  had  been  seen  any 
tim  >  these  ten  years. 

tlis  wif3,  though  she  had  been  bred,  as 
it  wore,  in  one  continual  scene  of  worrying 
and  l)iting,  had  a  monstrous  dislike  of  all 
<]uarrolsoineness  ;  but  tlie  baiting  of  bulls 
and  bears  she  had  been  so  used  to  look 
n|)on,  that  she  could  no  more  regard  it  as 
strife,  Ihui  could  a  miller  decry  as  noise  the 
turuiod  of  his  mill-wheel.  She  could  see, 
witli  iiiiiniti'  cohtentation,  a  bull  pinned  to 
the  n-rouni  by  a  savage  dog,  whilst  some 
of  his  fellows  were  being  tossed  in  the  air, 
yet  would  not  allow  the  cat  to  be  catching 
of  mice,  she  so  hugely  disliked  dumb  inno- 
cents to  be  harmed.  Amongst  her  friends 
she  was  universally  esteemed,  as  more  than 
ordinarjly  grave  in  hor  humor,  charitable, 
pious,  discreet,  and  kind;  and  if  her  hus- 
band thought  her  face  or  person  nut  so  good 
as  those  of  many  women  of  his  acquain- 
tance, tliere  could  be  no  doubt  of  it  he  found 
her  heart  a  wondrous  deal  bettor  than  them 
all.  So,  as  it  must  needs  be,  Edward  Allen 
and  his  yokefellow  led  an  exceeding  happy 
life. 

Leaving  liis  feir  helpmate  to  play  the 
part  of  the  good  wife,  which  she  was  wont 
to  perform  with  such  perfectness  there  was 
not  room  for  the  finding  of  a  single  fault, 
tlu  courteous  reader  must  a  while  with  the 
husband,  whose  excellences  of  disposition 
were  no  less  admirable  ;  for,  having,  under 
the  care  of  his  fair  partner,  been  getting 
himself  ready  for  a  journey,  the  whole  time 
of  what  hath  been  set  down  of  their  dis- 
course, he  started  off  in  his  best  suit  an  i 
cap,  and  making  forth  from  the  liberty  of 
tlie  Clink,  where  he  had  his  dwelling,  he 
proceeded  across  a  field  lying  towards  Lam- 
beth Marsh,  called  Pedlar's  Acre,  where- 
in were  some  buildings,  towards  which  he 
made.  Tliese  proved  to  be  the  ordinary 
habitations  of  certain  of  his  company  of 
beasts  before  they  were  suffered  to  make 
sport  at  the  Paris  Garden.  Here  he  re- 
mained not  long,  ascertaining  from  an  old 
womau  remaining  there,  that  his  father-in- 
law  and  partner  had  gone  off  with  his  best 
bears  and  dogs  to  the  Queen's  Majesty,  at 
Somerset  House.  Making  his  way  from 
thence  lo  the  water-side,  he  jinnped  into  a 
boat,  and  was  soon  crossing  the  river  with 
as  much  speed  as  a  pair  of  oars  could  make 
for  him. 

On  landing  at  the  stairs,  he  was  allowed 
to  pass  the  yeomen  there  on  guard,  for  tliey 
knew  him  well,  and  shortly  found  hiuiself 
greeted  by  a  bullet-headed,  bald-patcd,  old 
lellow,  with  legs  like  nine-pins,  a  body  like 


a  barrel,  and  a  face  as  glowing  as  the  flam- 
ing cinders  in  a  blacksmith's  forge.  He 
was  surrounded  by  a  motley  grouj),  some 
holding  dogs  and  some  bears,  and  there 
were  with  them  certain  officers  of  tiie 
queen's  household,  who  appeared  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly intent  on  what  was  going  for- 
ward. They  were  in  a  part  of  the  court- 
yard, where  a  post  h;ul  been  set  up  over- 
against  the  window  of  the  queen's  privy 
chamber,  where  she  was  wont  to  regale 
herself  with  a  sight  of  the  sport.  At  other 
windows  that  commanded  a  view  of  the 
ga'nes,  were  grou|)s  both  of  ladies  and  of 
gallants ;  whilst,  surrounding  the  spot  which 
contained  the  bear-keeper  and  his  beasts, 
was  a  throng  of  curious  people,  young  and 
old,  who  thought  themselves  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  see  the  queen  witness  such 
royal  pastime. 

The  new  comer  being  addressed  as  "  son 
Allen,"  in  a  rough  but  not  unfriendly  voice, 
by  the  person  just  alluded  to  ;  this  pointed 
the  latter  out  to  be  no  other  than  Pliillip 
Henslowe,  the  most  approved  master  of  the 
sports  of  the  Paris  Garden  all  London  could 
produce,  and  a  long-established  favorite  with 
its  good  citizens. 

After  a  few  words  of  cheerful  greeting, 
and  an  affectionate  inquiry  after  his  daugh- 
ter, which  elicited  the  loving  message  slie 
had  sent,  the  old  man  set  his  son-in-law  to 
fasten  one  of  the  bears  to  the  post,  lie  giv- 
ing directions  the  whilst  to  him  and  the 
holders  of  the  dogs,  and  ever  and  anon  ad- 
dressing the  beasts  themselves,  that  they 
should,  on  account  of  their  having  such 
noble  spectators,  exhibit  such  nobleness  of 
sport  as  should  make  them  worthy  of  so 
much  distinction.  Then  he  would  turn  to 
some  of  the  queen's  officers  about  him,  and 
lament  the  irreparable  loss  he  had  sustain- 
ed, in  the  last  winter,  of  two  of  the  very 
cleverest  bears  that  had  ever  come  out  of 
Muscovy.  He  told  how  they  had  been 
brought  over  to  him  when  cubs,  and  what 
absolute  pains  he  had  taken  with  their 
education,  till  they  had  become  the  most 
accomplished  bears  that  had  ever  hugged 
the  breath  out  of  a  mastiff.  And  then  he 
digressed  to  certain  of  his  dogs,  whose 
qualities  he  vaunted  as  excelling  that  of 
the  best  that  had  ever  been  known  in  die 
the  memory  of  man,  either  in  the  baiting 
of  bulls  or  bears ;  nay,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  they  were  of  such  unmatchable  cour- 
age and  fierceness,  they  would  as  lief  fly 
at  a  lion  or  a  tiger  as  at  more  'accustomed 
prey. 

Old  Henslowe  did  not  want  listeners,  and 
he  talked  with  the  air  of  one  who  takes  llie 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


23 


subject  of  his  discourse  to  bo  of  such  higli 
consequence  it  can  admit  of  no  rivalry, 
and  though,  like  all  his  fellows,  he  iiad  iiis 
jerkin  and  cap  off,  and  his  shirt-sleeves 
tucked  up  above  his  elbows,  and  his  appa- 
relling was  in  every  way  tiie  reverse  ol  the 
courtier,  he  lacked  not  attention,  nor,  it 
may  be  added,  respect ;  for  he  was  an  oracle 
in  these  matters,  and  they  were  in  such 
fashion,  tliere  were  few  at  court  who  de- 
sired not  to  have  some  knowledge  of  them. 
His  son-in-law  was  busily  engaged  in  fas- 
tening up  the  animal  that  was  rirst  to  be 
baited — a  luue,  shaggy  brute,  that  stared 
about  him  with  a  solenmness  of  visage  as 
of  a  justice  of  the  peace  at  the  least. 

He  had  scarce  done  this,  when  a  stir  in 
the  crowd  gave  notice  that  the  queen  was 
approaching;  and,  sure  enough,  her  high- 
ness appeared  in  great  splendor,  closely  iit- 
tenJed  by  the  noble  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
then  first  in  her  favor,  and  surrounded  at  a 
convenient  distance  by  lier  courtiers  and 
ladies  in  waiting.  Even,  at  that  distance, 
the  marks  of  age  and  decay  were  but  too 
visible  in  her  visage ;  and,  moreover,  she 
wore  an  expression  of  inquietude,  which, 
despite  of  the  efforts  of  her  courtly  compa- 
nion wlio  stood  at  her  side,  after  she  had 
seated  herself  on  a  chair  of  state  placed  for 
her  at  the  window,  to  entertain  her  with 
such  discourse  as  he  kaew  she  most  af- 
fected, scarcely  left  her  an  instant.  On 
her  appearance,  all  heads  were  uncovered, 
and  an  Imzza  set  up,  which  caused  the 
dogs  to  bark,  and  the  bears  to  growl,  as  if 
they  must  needs  testify  their  loyalty,  and 
the  satisfaction  they  iiad  in  being  set  by  the 
ears  for  the  entertainment  of  such  exalted 
company. 

Presently  a  clear  circle  was  made  round 
the  bear  at  the  stake,  none  being  allowed  to 
come  within  it,  save  only  those  engaged 
with  the  dogs.  Old  H^nslowe  took  by  the 
neck  one  of  the  poworfullest  of  liis  mastiff-!, 
and  showed  him  to  Bruin,  which  set  him  to 
growling  and  struggling  furiously  to  get  at 
him ;  and  Bruin  turned  his  solemn  visage 
towards  his  enemy,  with  a  glmce  from  his 
eye  and  a  glisten  of  his  formidable  teeth, 
that  savored  of  any  thing  but  aif:!Ction. 
The  old  man  aggravated  the  dog  by  shak- 
ing him  at  his  prey,  and  sohoing  hiiu  on, 
not  forgetting  to  rem i ml  the  beast  that  the 
eyes  of  th )  Queen's  Highness  were  upon 
him,  and  that  it  behoved  him  to  show  of 
wh  It  high  blood  he  was,  and  who  had  been 
his  master. 

At  a  little  distance  his  son-in-law  was 
en c<m raging  another  dog  to  the  attack  by 
similar  means,  and  others  were  beino-  held 


in  readiness,  all  of  which  looked  desperately 
eager  at  the  sport.  Presently,  old  Hens- 
lovve  let  loose  his  dog,  and  went  direct  at 
his  prey,  like  a  hawk  at  the  quarry  ;  but 
Bruin  was  an  old  hand  at  the  game,  and, 
standing  on  his  hind-quarters,  looked  ready 
for  his  assailant,  let  him  come  as  savage  as 
he  would.  The  mastiff  flew  at  his  throat, 
but  the  bear  knocked  him  aside  with  one 
of  his  fore-paws,  like  a  dexterous  fencer. 
He  made  another  spring,  which  would  have 
succeeded  better,  had  not  Bruin  got  him  in 
his  arms  with  so  fierce  a  hug  that  it  made 
him  squeak  for  it.  Before,  however,  he 
could  do  any  serious  hurt,  the  other  dog 
was  let  at  him,  and  Bruin  was  fain  to  let 
go  Ills  hold  of  the  first  to  defend  himself 
from  the  second. 

The  game  now  became  wondrous  excit- 
ing, for  tiie  dogs  were  eager  and  fierce,  and 
the  bear  marvellous  quick  in  his  movements, 
and  sn:3pping  and  pawing  off  his  foes  with 
a  dexterousness  that  balHed  their  attacks 
and  won  liim  great  applause.  The  audi- 
ence seemed  to  take  great  interest  in  the 
combat ;  even  her  highness  looked  as  though 
she  regarded  it  with  m:>re  attentiveness 
than  the  sugared  compliments  of  the  noble 
gentleman  at  her  side.  Hithertj  all  had 
looked  on,  witli  too  much  respect  for  the 
great  personage  in  whose  company  they 
were,  to  attempt  any  interruption,  save  soma 
hearty  commendation  now  and  then  fro  n  one 
or  two  of  the  more  privileged  ;  but  old  lljns«- 
lowe,  in  the  intensity  of  his  honest  pleasure 
in  the  fight,  clean  forgot  under  whose  aw- 
ful eyes  iie  was,  and  made  the  air  resound 
again  witli  his  plaudits,  which,  with  even- 
handed  justice,  he  bestowed  wiih  equal  vo 
liemence  now  on  one  party  and  now  on  the 
other.  Now  it  was  "  Brave  dog !" — anon 
•'  Brave  bear  !" — then  was  heard,  "  Well 
fought,  Jowler  ! — a  good  grip,  Pincher  ! — 
closely  hugged.  Bruin  !"  and  the  like  en- 
couragements, which  seemed  to  have  vast 
effect,  for  the  dogs  worried  the  bear  with  a 
spirit  that  increased  every  minute,  and  the 
bear  seemed  every  minute  to  put  forth  a 
more  valiant  opposition.  Edward  Allen 
looked  on  with  quite  as  great  a  s  itisfaction, 
though  he  was  not  quite  so  boisterous  in 
giving  it  words  ;  yet  he  could  not  forbear 
once  remarking  to  a  bystander,  that  Bruin's 
action  was  of  the  true,  high,  Ptoman  dignity  j 
and  Jovvler's  dalivery  pointed  him  out  as  the 
first  tragedian  of  his  time. 

When  it  was  thought  the  bear  had  been 
sufficiently  worried,  and  the  dogs  appeared 
to  tire  of  the  sport,  they  wers  put  on  one 
side,  and  another  bear  and  other  dogs  wero 
brought    forvvard    to   supply   their    places. 


24 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


As  this  fight  was  but  a  repetition  of  that 
aire.uly  doscribeil,  m^tliinks  thoio  be  no 
nyjtl  of  giving  licre  any  account  of  it. 
NevertliolesH,  it  affjrdod  as  abun.lant  con- 
toatation  as  the  other. 

It  so  c;i:ince.l  .m  oJd  accid_^nt  put  an  end 
to  thj  enLertaininont  in  the  mo  t  summary 
fasliion.  As  the  second  bear  was  beinj  re- 
leased from  ihe  stake,  lie  slipped  his  collar, 
and  nude  a  sudJen  rush  at  the  crowd 
around.  After  so  much  fighling,  it  was 
not  supposed  he  coidd  bo  in  any  v  'ry  ami- 
able mao  I,  so  his  unjxpocted  attick  threw 
the  whole  company  into  the  horriblest  fright 
the  eye  ever  beheld.  In  endeavoring  to  get 
themielves  out  of  his  way,  they  tumbled 
over  pach  oiher  by  dozens:  in  the  confasiQn, 
the  dogs  broke  I'roai  their  keepers  and  flew 
at  the.r  libjrited  prey.  Old  Henslowe  and 
his  son-in-liw  rushed  forwird  to  pirt  them  ; 
bat,  in  the  press,  they  wore  knocked  down, 
and  bear,  dogs,  and  men  were  presently 
seen  stragghng  on  the  ground  in  one  un- 
distingui.shable  miss,  whilst  such  as  had 
the  use  of  tueir  legs  were  making  their  es- 
cape with  no  less  histe  than  alarm.  Her 
niijesty  and  her  courtiers  got  themselves  to 
a  place  of  safety  with  mach  more  s))eed 
than  dignity  ;  b  it  in  a  few  minutes,  the  up- 
roir  ceased.  Brain  wis  recaptured,  and  th'i' 
dogs  severally  secured.  It  may  readily  be 
behevei  th  ^e  was  no  more  bear-baiting  be- 
fore her  highness  tliat  d  ly. 

Hensl.jwe  saw  his  beasts  depart  to  t'leir 
habications  with  their  attendants,  and  then, 
patting  on  his  jerkin,  accompanied  his  son 
Allen  to  look  for  his  e.Kpected  guests.  Much 
they  disc(jursed  by  the  way  on  the  state  of 
tlieir  alf  lirs — now  dilating  on  their  doings 
at  the  Fortune,  and  now  at  Paris  Garden  ; 
and,  from  what  pissed  betwixt  them,  a 
goodly  lesson  might  aave  been  learned  of 
the  relitive  value  of  interludes  and  bear- 
baiting  ;  of  play  ts  and  pi  ly-writers,  and 
bulls,  bears,  and  dogs  of  divers  kinds  and 
qualities.  Apparently  wall  satisfied  wit'i 
these  uMtters,  as  fir  as  th  ^y  were  concerned 
with  them,  they  at  list  arrived  at  a  small 
way-side  inn,  near  ihe  Pimlico  fields, as  yoi 
goto  Ch)lsea,  much  frequented  by  honest 
citizens  with  a  taste  for  tiie  country,  and  a 
projjer  enjoymont  for  curds  and  cream,  ho', 
cakes,  and  a  game  at  bowls.  Instead  of 
going  through  the  house,  they  entered  at  an 
open  gat:",  which  led  them  through  a  sliady 
avenue  into  a  sortof  garden,  having  bowers 
all  round  for  the  acco.n  nodition  of  the  com- 
pany. Here  was  a  swing,  and  several  other 
rustical  pleasures,  an  1  beyoad  was  a  smooth 
bowling-green,  in  great  repute  for  the  neat- 
ness with  Wiiich  it  was  kept. 


Old  [lenslowe  and  his  son  became  aware 
as  they  approached,  of  some  persons  being 
in  hot  and  violent  dispute.  People  were 
seen  leaving  their  favorite  bowers,  some  with 
alarm,  and  some  with  curiosity.  The  swing 
was  deserted  ;  the  climbing-pole,  the  skittles, 
and  the  butts  for  the  shooters  completely 
neglected;  and  all  were  hastening  to  look 
into  the  cause  of  the  huge  uproar  which 
was  existing  in  the  bowling-green.  Among 
a  throng  of  persons,  some  of  whom  affected 
a  display  of  greater  bravery  than  was  usual 
amengst  the  regular  frequenters  of  " 'l^he 
Sliepherd  and  Shepherdess,"  whose  sharp 
speeches  and  ready  answers  had  more  than 
once  drawn  attention  to  them  from  the  more 
quiet  pirt  of  the  company,  there  was  seen, 
more  prominently  than  all  others,  a  sturdy, 
broad-faced,  stout-made  man,  not  ill  apparel- 
led, yet  seeming  to  be  careless  of  such 
things,  his  features  inflamed  with  passion, 
and  both  by  voice  and  gesture  showing,  as 
plainly  as  such  things  could,  that  he  was  in 
a  very  monstrous,  tearing  humor  with  some 
one.  Around  and  about  him  were  two  or 
tliree  of  his  companions,  evidently  striving 
all  they  could  to  pacify  him,  most  prominent 
among  whom  was  one  who,  by  his  appear- 
ance, was  a  person  of  worship,  though  this 
arose  as  much  from  his  hiving  so  goodly  a 
presence  as  from  wearing  handsome  gar- 
ments. 

A  little  in  the  rear  of  these  was  another 
group,  surrounding  a  man  of  a  middle  height, 
yet  of  a  well-knit  frame,  whose  face  was 
pile  with  passion.  It  might  be  seen,  from 
his  manner  and  language,  that  he  was  quite 
as  violent  as  tlie  other,  and  that  he  paid  as 
liitle  attention  to  the  representations  of  his 
companions  in  their  endeavors  to  restore  him 
to  good  humor.  An  inditTerent  spectator 
could  easily  hive  ascertained,  from  what  fell 
from  these  different  persons,  that  there  had 
been  a  violent  quarrel  during  a  game  at 
bowls  betwixt  two  of  a  party  of  players  who 
had  met  together  at  "  The  Shepherd  and 
Shepherdess"  for  the  enjoyment  of  those 
innocent  pleasures  the  place  afforded.  The 
two,  it  appeared,  were  Benjamin  Jonson  and 
Gabriel  Spencer,  both  of  "  The  Fortune  ;" 
the  former,  besides,  being  a  writer  of  plays 
of  singular  merit,  as  witness  his  admirable 
"  Every  Man  in  his  Humor."  Both  were  of 
marvellous  hasty  tempers,  and  exceedingly 
intolerant  of  ihe  slightest  opposition.  After 
tiunting  each  other  with  terrible  provoking 
words,  they  got  so  inflamed,  that  they  were 
for  running  each  other  t'arough  whore  iliey 
^5to»d  ;  but  they  were  separated  by  some  of 
their  more  peaceable  companions,  and  made 
to  put  by  their  rapiers  ere  they  had  done  any 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


25 


mischief — yet  not  without  tho  giving  and 
receiving  of  a  chall^ng  j  tJ  s  ^t  la  tlieir  qu  ir- 
rel  the  n  'Xt  clay  in  Hox;on  Fields.  It  wa.-i 
hoped,  by  thosi  who  strova  most  to  reconcile 
th3;Ti — pirticularly  the  person  juit  spoken 
of,  who  was  addressed  soin 'timas  as  W;  1, 
and  so.neti.nes  as  Mi-tsr  Sliikspeara — ;hat 
the  mitter  in  dispute  migiit  hi  adjusted 
without  any  recours?  to  weapons  ;  aid  they 
labored  assiduously  with  that  oo  ect  in  view. 
It  was  in  this  s'.ige  of  the  pDcejdin  vs 
that  old  Hjnslowe  and  his  sm-in-law  ap- 
proxoh3d  t'i9:n.  The  later  thougiit  it  w.ses'. 
to  take  no  notice  of  the  dispute  ;  and,  there- 
for3,  in  a  ch  aerful  ininaer,  he  accost jd  them 
all  and  severally,  which  behavior  ot  his  wa> 
iiR  nediitely  re -ponded  to  by  the  greater  part 
with  every  sign  of  webo:n3  and  good  hu.nor, 
for  the  purpose  of  calling  oiT  tiie  attendoa 
of  the  ilisputants  fro.n  their  quarrel;  an) 
they  even  put  aside  their  squauble,  and  re- 
plied to  their  salutations  in  so;Tiething  lilie 
a  friendly  spirit.  An  invitation  was  sriortly 
afrer  proifered  to  then  by  Edward  Allen, 
wiiich  w  13  as  heartily  received  as  given, 
an  1  in  a  present'y  there  was  such  a  vast  ex- 
penditure a  nongst  the  n  of  hirailess  froack 
and  pleas  intry,  tnat  it  app3ared  to  the  peace- 
ful Alien  har.noay  had  been  coaipleteiy 
restore  1.  H3  was,  however,  aboui  the  only 
one  in  the  co.npany  under  that  impression, 
whch  doubtless  arose  Iron  his  entire  igno- 
rance of  the  bitter,  taunting  speeches  that 
had  pissed  betwixt  Ben  Jonson  and  Gabriel 
Spencer,  which,  it  was  well  known,  froai 
thnr  t  irbulent  dispositions,  neither  would 
overlook. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  full  belief  that  the 
quarrel  was  a  trifling  one,  which  must,  of 
cours  ?,  beentirely  forgotten  wliist  they  were 
enjoyia:r  theiu  selves  under  his  roof,  lie  readi- 
ly joined  in  the  mirth  that  was  going  on 
ar()uud  him,  as  they  strolled  towards  West- 
minster, for  the  purpos"e  of  taking  bo  its  to 
Southw  irk.  They  engaged  two  boats ;  and 
it  WIS  so  managed,  tliat  Gabriel  siiould  pro- 
ceed in  oae,  and  B3n  in  the  other,  and  there 
were  about  either,  one  or  two  judicious 
friends  who  tried  to  reconcile  them.  It  did 
not  appear  they  h  id  much  success,  for  both 
parties  continued  in  the  same  dogged  hu- 
mor— Without  doubt  entertaining  feelings 
agiinst  each  other  not  readily  to  be  removed. 
They  all  arrived,  without  further  adven- 
ture, at  Eiward  Allen"s  house  in  the  liberty 
of  the  Clink,  and  met  with  the  most  friendly 
of  welco.nes  froai  the  good  daaie,  who,  in 
her  extre  ue  pleasure  at  seeing  of  her  father, 
seemed  determined  to  be  pleased  even  wita 
those  siie  least  liked  to  see.  Slie  had  got 
two  or  three  good  gossips  of  her  acquaint- 


ance of  her  own  sex  to  meet  her  husbmd's 
company,  anl  had  greitly  excited  tiieir  ex- 
pectui  uis    by    aut.cipating   the   monstrous 
sitisfaction  they  were  to  rind  in  the  society 
of  so  ne  of  her  expected  guests,  particular  y 
dilating  on  'h;  tna/velious  sweet  qialities  of 
her   hasbaaii's  fist  frie  id.  Master  William 
Shikspeir^,  of  "The   Globe,"   whoai   she 
made  no  disguise  in  averring  she  liked  with 
a  1  an  honest  wtniin's  partiality.     At  the 
entrance  of  her  husbuid  with  his  co  npany, 
she   siagled   o.it    Mister  Saakspeare,  and 
uiide  h.iU  known  to  th3se  her  friends  with 
such  warmth  of  gratiric  ition,  as  no  do  ibt 
would  hive  rendered  s.)mew  iit  uneasy  a 
hu  ib  ml  less  satistied  with  his  wife's  worthi- 
ness of  nature,  or  his  friend's  honorableness 
of  mind,  thin  the  well-contented  Ned  Allen. 
The  reception,  and  the  etforts  they  were 
obliged  to  mike  to  renew  an  ac'iuaintance 
or  to  establish  one  with  the  fair  companions 
of  their  fair  hostess,  for  awhile  took  off  the 
a  t  uition  of  the  associates  of  Ben  Jonson 
anl  Gibriei  Speneer ;  and  the  securing  of 
their  pi  ices  at  dmner,  the  satisfying  of  their 
several  appetites,  and  the  attenrioas   they 
thought  it  necessary  to  pay  ti  their  female 
fellow-guests,  prevented  taem  for  so  ne  time 
noticing  taeir  behavior.     Nevertheless,  so  ne 
time  before  t!ie  meal  wis  tinished, they  could 
not  help  regarding,  with  very  coasiilerable 
alarm,  the  exceeding  strangeness  of  their 
conduct.     G  ibriel  sat  pale  and  stately,  with 
a  sinister,  restless  look  glancing  f ro  n  his 
grey  eyes.    H  e  was  wont  to  be  a  good  feeder 
and  a  loud  talker,  but  all  marvelled  to  see 
he  ate  little  and  talked  less  :  Ben,  with  his 
broad,  red  fac3,  sat  over  against  him,  look- 
ing all  the  less  pleasant  for  tue  gloomy  fr-)vvn 
which  seemed  to  sit  on  it  imuiovea'jiy.     He 
had  never  been  wont  to  neglect  eitaer  his 
meat  or  his  li  juor  ;  but  now  he  had  not  a 
m lid's  appetite  in  courting  time;  neverthe- 
less, he   neglected   not   the   gond  wine,  of 
which  there  was  abundance,  but  poured  it 
down  as  thougli  he  was  laboring   under  a 
thirst  that  could  n'A  he  quenched,  or  made 
his  throat  a  funnel  for  the  purpose  of  noting 
how  quickly  good  liquor  would  run  down  it. 
The  exceden:  housewtfe  h  id  put  forth  all  her 
skill  in  the  miking  of  dainty  dishes  to  enter- 
tiin  her  hushaad's   guests,  as  she  believed 
taey  deserved  ;  and  the  result  was  a  b  in  juet 
that  should  have  pleased  the  most  critical. 

There  certainly  was  no  lack  of  commen- 
dation from  the  well-pleased  guests.  Even 
the  dame's  good  gossips  eat  and  praised, and 
praised  am  eat,  as  though  desirous  of  domg 
the  fullest  justice  to  their  entertainment. 
And  well  were  they  qualiried  for  tais,  for 
they  were  no  flaunting  madams  too  proud 


26 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


and  ig-norant  to  trouble  tliemselves  about 
doni3stic  matters.  Tiicy  were  siinijle, 
honest,  city  dames,  of  excellent  reputation, 
than  whom  none  knew  better  the  proper 
ordering  of  a  house,  and  all  that  showeth 
the  njtable  true  housewife,  in  tlic  best  and 
kindliest  fashion.  Dame  Allen,  in  her  duty 
of  a  good  hostess,  was  diligent  in  seeing 
that  all  fuvd  well,  and  were  well  satislied 
with  their  fare.  Whilst  engaged  in  this 
office,  sli3  was  struck  with  tiie  uneasy  air 
and  strange,  unsocial  manner  of  the  quar- 
rellers  ;  bat,  as  neither  of  them  were  of  her 
esteemed  acquaintance,  she  contented  her- 
selfwilh  an  occasional  pressing  to  partake 
of  her  dainties,  and  then  directed  her  atten- 
tion to  such  as  she  regarded,  with  more 
esteem.  Still,  ever  and  anon,  she  glanced 
at  the  two  with  a  curious  inquietude,  and 
busied  her  mind  with  marvelling  what  it 
was  that  made  them  appear  so  ill  at  ease,  in 
the  midst  of  such  general  contentation. 

At  last  the  meal  was  over,  the  table  clear- 
ed, and  again  spread  with  tankards,  and 
glasses,  and  wine,  and  sack,  and  cakes,  and 
co.nfits,  and  the  like  after-dinner  cates ;  and 
every  one  seemed  to  bo  inclined  to  talk  to 
his  neighbor  ;  some  ventured  upon  a  jest, 
and  all  looked  to  be  inclined  for  pleasantry 
and  good  fellowship  after  the  bias  of  their 
several  humors.  Old  Henslovve  talked  of 
the  notable  bulls  and  bears  he  had  seen  in 
his  diy,  and  entered  into  some  spirited 
accounts  of  the  dogs  they  had  been  matched 
with.  His  daughter  chimed  in  with  anec- 
dotes of  the  savagest  of  these  animals, 
speaking  of  their  fiercest  encounters  as 
familiarly  as  might  another  of  her  sex  of 
the  sportiveness  of  kittens.  Her  worthy 
husband,  as  was  his  wont,  divided  his  dis- 
course so  much  between  quadrupeds  and 
bipeds,  that  there  was  no  knowing,  for  cer- 
tain, which  liad  the  advantage  of  his  com- 
mindations.  Others  spoke  of  news  from 
court  and  gossip  concerning  the  ill-repute 
into  which,  it  was  said,  the  Earl  of  Essex 
had  fallen  with  the  queen.  Shakspeare 
was  dividing  many  gentle  courtesies  and 
compliments  amongst  his  fiir  hostess  and 
her  fair  friends,  as  it  seemed,  infinitely  to 
their  contentation.  Each  appeared  to  have 
sometiimg  to  engage  himself  withal,  and 
some  means  of  alfording  entertainment  to 
himself  and  his  neighbors. 

Yet,  of  the  company,  there  must  be  ex- 
cepted two,  for  Gabriel  Spencer  still  con- 
tinued his  sullen  reserve,  and  Benjamin 
Jonson  kept  up  his  wild  manner  and  frequent 
recourse  to  the  tankard  ;  in  addition  to  which 
he  begin,  in  a  fierce,  taunting  manner,  to 
niake  remarks  which,  thoujili  riddles  to  most 


of  the  guests,  were  easily  seen  by  Gabriel, 
and  a  few  others,  to  be  levelled  at  liim. 
The  flashing  eyes  and  increasing  paleness 
of  the  latter  warned  the  ob.-ervant  that  there 
would  be  mischief  anon,  if  t.iey  had  not  the 
wit  to  ward  it  off;  and  so  they  presently 
took  measures  that  should  direct  attention 
elsewhere.  They  chose  to  be  pressing  on 
their  host  for  a  taste  of  his  skill  on  the  liite, 
which,  after  some  backwardness,  he  was 
induced  to  afford  ;  and,  of  a  surety,  he  well 
earned  the  praises  so  liberally  bestowed  on 
his  admirable  handling  his  instrument. 
Then  was  enjoyed  the  sweet  throat  of  Will 
Byrde  ;  and  his  exquisite  ballad  was  scarcely 
ended  when  Humphrey  JefFes  was  enforced 
to  show  the  goodly  quality  of  his  viuldi- 
Gamba.  John  Shanke's  ready  jest  was 
equally  at  their  bidding ;  and  Tom  Dow- 
ton's  tricks  of  conjuring  were  as  little  called 
for  in  vain.  Ere  the  last  of  these  marvels 
had  exhausted  the  astonishment  of  the  com- 
pany, the  three-part  song  of  Ned  Colbrand, 
Francis  Grace,  and  Samuel  Rowley,  was 
heard  in  all  its  grateful  harmony. 

The  thoughtful  few  who  so  judiciously 
sought  to  render  ineffective  the  evil  humors 
of  their  unfriendly  companions,  noticed,  not 
without  much  alarm,  that  neither  the  taste- 
ful playing  on  the  lute,  the  exquisite  ballad, 
the  famous  performance  on  the  viol,  jest, 
conjuring,  or  three-part  song,  had  any  effect 
on  the  angry  and  unsocial  spirits  who  sat 
amongst  them  ;  and  they  began  to  experi- 
ence a  creeping  dread,  that  chilled  their  own 
efforts  to  keep  the  rest  sufficiently  amused. 
Of  these.  Master  Shakspeare  had  been  all 
along  the  most  active.  He  had  seen  that 
mischief  was  brewing  under  the  cloudy  l)rows 
of  his  two  angry  associates,  and  sought  all 
means  at  his  disposal  to  bring  them  into 
pleasanter  and  more  commendable  feelings; 
but  the  evident  uselessness  of  his  labors 
began  to  be  painfully  conspicuous,  for,  mis- 
liking  the  strange  looks  and  behavior  of  Ben 
Jonson  and  Gabriel  Spencer,  Dame  Allen 
and  her  gossips  had,  one  after  another,  stolen 
out  of  the  chamber.  The  newsmongers  sat 
silent,  gazing  with  no  small  share  of  anxious- 
ness,  at  the  singular  bearing  and  behavior 
of  their  turbulent  friends.  The  singers 
forgot  their  voices,  and  the  musicians  their 
instruments  ;  the  jester  had  ceased  attempt- 
ing to  raise  a  laugh  at  his  quirks  and  quid- 
dities, and  the  conjurer  seemed  to  have  taken 
an  entire  leave  of  his  art — so  wrought  upon 
were  they  all  with  the  strangeness  of  the 
conduct  of  their  fellow-guests.  Old  Hens- 
lovve and  his  son-in-law  appeared  to  be  the 
only  persons  who  knew  not  the  feelings  that 
were  nourished  by  their  implacable  friends ; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


27 


and  they  were  so  intent  upon  a  discussion 
respecting  the  host  age  at  whicli  bears 
should  be  first  brought  to  the  gamfs,  as  to 
have  no  thouiiht  or  care  for  anything  else. 

Shakspeare,  who  had  omitted  nothing  that 
might  reconcile  the  hostile  parties,  or  make 
them  forget  their  quarrel,  saw,  with  alarm, 
the  offensive  conduct  of  the  now  half-intoxi- 
cated Ben  Jonson  ;  and  at  last  ventured,  in 
an  under-tone,  to  make  an  impressive  remon- 
strance to  him.  At  this,  the  other,  striking 
his  ti.-t  on  the  table,  loudly  e.xclaimed,  with 
a  contemptuous  look  and  voice,  '■  Let  him 
go  hang  !  Who  cares  for  such  a  white- 
livered  hound  ?"  The  words  were  scarce 
out  of  his  mouth,  when  Gabriel  started  up, 
his  long  pent-up  passion  no  longer  to  be 
restrained,  and,  catciiing  in  his  hand  a  heavy 
tankard  that  stood  before  him,  he  sent  il, 
with  so  true  an  aim,  at  the  head  of  the  in- 
sulter,  that  it  knocked  him  off  his  stool.  A 
violent  scene  followed,  every  one  springing 
to  his  legs  in  confusion,  all  asking  questions, 
or  making  comments,  and  crowding  round 
either  the  prostrate  player  or  his  adversary. 
Henslowe  and  his  son-in-law  seemed  as 
greatly  astonished  as  though  all  their  bears, 
bulls,  and  dogs,  had  joined  in  general  fight; 
and  the  rost,  if  their  astonishment  was  less, 
their  anxiety  was  equally  painful. 

At  the  fir-t  outcry.  Dame  Allen  and  some 
of  her  gossips  had  rushed  to  the  door,  in  as 
hugh  a  fear  as  women  are  wont  to  fall  into 
on  such  occasions,  to  learn  the  nature  of 
the  disturbance  ;  and  their  exclamations,  as 
may  well  be  believed,  did  not  tend,  in  any 
manner,  to  lessen  the  uproar  and  c^'ufusion. 
Poor  Dame  Allen !  terrible  was  her  disap- 
pointment at  the  result  of  an  entertainment, 
to  eujoy  the  superior  attractions  of  which 
she  had  invited  so  many  estimable  persons 
of  her  own  sex ;  and  it  was  not  till  the 
worthiest  of  her  guests,  in  her  thinking,  had 
had  come  to  assure  her  that  there  was  no 
cause  to  be  under  any  alarm,  for  his  friend 
had  only  been  stunned,  and  was  in  a  fair 
way  of  perfect  recovery,  that  she  grew  to  be 
in  a  more  tranquil  state. 

Whilst  some  of  the  company  were  busy 
raising  the  fallen  man,  a  few  assembled 
about  the  other,  and,  partly  by  persuasion, 
partly  by  force,  got  him  out  of  the  room, 
and  thence  into  the  street.  On  coming  to 
himself,  Ben  was  monstrous  furious,  and  at 
first  could  not  be  pacified  in  any  manner, 
wiien  he  found  his  adversary  had  gone 
away  ;  but  in  the  end  he  became  less  vio- 
lent, and  finally  took  his  leave  of  his  host  as 
though  he  thought  no  more  of  the  matter. 
At  thi-allthe  company  went  their  several 
ways,  with  an  abundance  of  friendly  good 


wishes  from  their  kind  and  cheerful  enter- 
tainers. They,  in  the  simplicity  of  their 
hearts,  fancied  that  the  quarrel  would  go 
no  farther  ;  but  in  that  they  were  in  as 
great  error  as  ever  they  were  in  all  their 
days. 

Early  on  the  morrow,  two  men  were  seen 
walking  rapidly  together  in  the  direction  of 
Hoxton  Fields.  It  was  a  fair  morning  in 
September,  with  a  fine  cool  air,  and  the 
hedges  were  in  full  foliage,  showing  a  rare 
crop  of  berries,  and  a  no  less  pleasant  stock 
of  the  latest  fiowers  of  the  season  ;  and  the 
herds,  which  stood  in  groups,  hither  and 
thither,  were  breaking  their  fast  with  what 
looked  to  be  a  most  absolute  enjoyment  of 
their  meal.  Flocks  of  sparrows  and  finches 
were  flitting  from  spray  to  spray,  and  nu- 
merous bands  of  larks  were  whirling  over 
the  open  pastures.  The  distant  report  of  a 
gun  from  the  sttd^bles,  which  were  plainly 
discernible  in  the  landscape,  showed  that 
the  sportsman  was  abroad,  and  busy  at  his 
vocation.  The  two  men  walked  on  at  a 
brisk  pace,  as  hath  been  said,  the  one  look- 
ing exceedingly  fierce  and  sullen,  the  other 
wearing  a  melancholy  expression,  with  a 
visible  tinge  of  uneasiness. 

"  I  think,  Ben,"  exclaimed  the  first,  in  a 
serious  tone  of  voice,  "  it  would  be  as  well, 
your  honor  well  cared  for,  to  settle  this  un- 
happy dispute,  betwixt  you  and  Gabriel, 
without  the  shedding  of  blood." 

"  Tush,  Will ;  dost  take  me  for  a  cra- 
ven !"  exclaimed  the  other,  fiercely.  "Am 
I  to  be  knocked  o'  the  pate  by  every  scur\y 
knave  that  lists,  and  care  for  nought  but  to 
patch  up  my  quarrel !  Zounds  !  shall  I, 
who,  as  it  were,  have  served  apprenticeship 
to  the  profession  of  arms,  and  that,  too,  with 
some  small  credit  to  myself  and  respect  of 
mine  enemies,  shall  I  be  a  mark  for  so 
worthless,  contemptible  a  fellow  as  this 
Gabriel  Spencer ;  to  be  flung  at  when  it 
suited  his  humor,  and,  when  I  have  had 
my  brains  nigh  upon  knocked  out,  present 
my  service  to  him  with  his  morning 
draught !  Nay,  I'll  put  my  tongue  in  pawn 
to  the  first  cur  who  seeketh  a  breakfast,  ere 
it  shall  give  its  assent  to  anything  so 
odious." 

"  I  admit  that  the  blow  is  an  affront  not 
to  be  endured,"  observed  tlie  other,  whom 
the  understanding  reader  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  discovering  to  be  Master  Shaks- 
peare. "  But  surely  he  had  exceeding  pro- 
vocation." 

"  Provocation  be  hanged  !"  sharply  an- 
swered his  friend,  who  was  no  other  than 
Benjamin  Jonson.  "  Was  it  like,  after 
what  had  passed  that  I  could  sit  tamely  by 


28 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


and  see  so  vile  a  fellow  making  mouths  at 
me,  like  a  sick  ape  after  j)iiysic  !  Fore 
George,  I  had  amuntli's  uiiiidto  cudgel  him 
as  lie  sat.  I  tell  thee.  Will,"  added  he,  in 
a  decided  tone,  "  tiie  knave  hath  crossed  me 
often.  I  like  liot  his  humors.  I  am  ear- 
nest inmy  quarrel,  and  with  the  help  of  my 
good  rapier,  which  hath  done  me  yeoman's 
service  before  now,  I  will  bring  it  to  a  pro- 
per ending.  ' 

Ma?tjr  Shakspeare  knew  Ben  too  well  to 
expect  any  approach  being  made  to  the 
amicable  settling  of  this  ditierence  in  his 
present  mood  ;  tierefure,  he  wisjly  held  his 
speech,  and  the  two  continued  to  walk  on  in 
silence  till  they  turned  tiie  end  of  the  lane, 
which  bordered  on  the  liekls  to  which  they 
were  proceeding.  As  they  were  advancing 
along  the  ji.itii  that  leads  across  one  of 
the  larger  tields,  thjy  became  aware  of  two 
persons  waiting  under  a  clump  of  trees, 
down  in  one  of  the  corners  of  it,  for  whom 
they  made.  They  were  so  intent  on  their 
discourse,  that  they  did  not  discover  the  ap- 
proach of  Bon  and  his  friend,  till  tiiey  came 
close  upon  them,  and  overheard  the  follow- 
ing dialogue. 

"  Of  a  truth,  Captain  Swashbuckler,  you 
speak  monstrous  tenij^tingly  ot  your  rapier." 

"  A  right  Toledo,  as  I  live,  worthy  Mas- 
ter Spencer.  But  that  I  have  contidence  in 
your  discretion,!  would  not  have  tuld  you 
the  name  of  the  great  grandee  of  whom  I 
had  it." 

"  The  Duke  de  Medina  Sidonia,  I  think 
you  said,  to  whom  it  had  been  presented  by 
the  King  of  Spain." 

"  And  in  consequence  of  my  pressing  ne- 
cessities, and  of  iny  exceeding  friendship  tor 
you,  1  reduce  my  demand  of  forty  crowns, 
which  is  not  a  quarter  of  its  right  estimate, 
to  five,  which  1  would  not  of  any  one  else 
take  tor  the  loan  of  it." 

"  1  am  bound  to  you.  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler, for  your  consideration,  and  for  standing 
my  friend  in  this  quarrel ;  and  1  willingly 
pay  you  the  sum  you  require." 

"  Thanks,  wortliy  sir  ;  but  concerning  of 
this  little  matter  of  dispute  betwixt  you  and 
that  hectoring  brickliyer,  Benjamin  Jon- 
son,  be  you  under  no  manner  of  concern  as 
to  its  issue.  Remember  you  my  lessons — 
forget  not  your  punto  reverso' — of  all  things 
bear  in  mind  the  secret  thrust  I  took  such 
pains  to  inform  you  of — and  you  shall  have 
his  weapon  at  your  coinmHiid  and  his  life 
at  your  disposal,  ere  you  have  exchanged 
half  a  score  of  passes  with  him.  I  remem- 
ber me,  as  well  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday, 
when  I  taught  the  noble  Earl  of  Leicester 
this  same  matchless  trick  of  fence  ;    and  I 


know  not  how  many  of  his  enemies  he  over- 
threw by  em|)loyiiig  it  in  the  duel.o  with 
them.  But,  by  the  god  of  war,  here  come 
tiie  very  men  we  look  for!" 

Saying  this,  Captain  Swashbuckler  ad- 
vanced, and,  taking  olf  his  hat  with  the  easy 
assurance  of  a  cast  captain,  saluted  the 
persons  who  approached  him.  His  broad, 
bronzed  face  was  not  made  a  whit  handso- 
mer for  the  patch  over  his  eye,  and  his  un- 
gainly shape  was  not  more  prepossessing 
than  his  aspect.  He  was  dress^'d  in  a  fa- 
ded suit  of  cinnamon,  with  a  goodly  rutf, 
wore  his  soiled  beaver  with  the  air  of  a 
commander,  and  strode  in  a  pair  of  worn- 
out  buff  shoes,  with  crumpled  roses,  as 
though  there  could  not  be  so  great  a  man  in 
the  world. 

After  salutation  and  mutual  introductions, 
Master  Shakspeare  and  he  stood  a  little 
apart  to  arrange  the  business  of  the  meet- 
ing. It  was  the  earnest  desire  of  the  for- 
mer to  bring  things  to  an  amicable  settle- 
ment, but  the  other  must  needs  show  him- 
self to  lie  a  man  of  war,  and  talked  so  over- 
poweriiigly  of  the  atiront  liis  principal  had 
received,  and  entered  so  learnedly  into  the 
proper  proceedings  of  the  duelK)  in  such  ca- 
ses, that,  with  a  sad  heart,  Master  Shaks- 
peare found  he  could  not  prevent  the  tight 
both  parties  were  so  bent  upon. 

It  chaifced,  however,  that  previous  to  the 
combatants  being  set  against  eacii  other,  on 
the  seconds  measuring  their  rapiers,  "  the 
right  Toledo,"  which  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler had  sold  his  friend,  Vv'as  found  to  be  sev- 
eral inches  longer  in  the  bl.ide  than  the 
sword  of  Ben  Jonson.  Master  Shakspeare 
lustily  protested  against  such  a  wisapon 
being  used,  and  was  in  hopes  tids  inequality 
would  put  an  end  to  the  combat ;  but  Ben 
insisted  tiiat  his  adversary  should  have  his 
own  weapon,  which  tie  strongly  commended 
as  having  befriended  him  on  many  a  pinch, 
and  he  woidd  take  that  worn  by  his  triend, 
Will  Shakspeare,  which  was  of  the  same 
length.  The  latter  strove  to  prevent  this, 
but  all  his  objections  were  overruled  ;  and 
at  last  Ben  Jonson  and  Gabriel  Spencer 
found  themselves  opposite  each  other  with 
the  naked  blades,  as  the  former  had  ruled, 
crossed  in  front  of  them. 

Captain  Swashbuckler  appeared  even  less 
pleased  with  tliis  arrangement  than  Master 
Shakspeare,  but  they  both  drew  a  little  off 
from  the  couibatanis,  to  watch  and  wait  the 
issue  of  the  tight.  Ben  Jonson  looked  de- 
terminedly, yet  with  the  quiet  steady  glance 
of  an  old  swordsman  ;  and  Gabriel  S|)encer, 
though  he  was  somewhat  disconcerted  at 
the   disappointment  he   had   to   endure  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


29 


beincr  doprived  of  the  advantages  he  might 
have  derived  from  s  >  c.ioice  a  weapon  as 
that  vvliii'li  h.id  had  the  honor  ot  being  con- 
ferred bv  the  King  of  b-'pain  o.i  so  disliu- 
gi!ish?d  a  grandee  as  the  Duke  de  Medina 
Sidonia,  I'l  It  such  conlidence  in  the  lessons 
he  ha  i  ri  ceivel  froai  a  mister  of  fence  so 
well  known  at  ['auFs  as  Caj.tiin  Swash- 
buckler, as  to  be  perfectly  free  from  appre- 
hension for  hims:;lf.  But,  most  unfortu- 
nately for  him,  it  so  chanced  that,  in  the 
very  b';>ginning  of  the  duel,  after  a  few  pas- 
ses oniy,  and  before  he  thought  of  applying 
to  the  funous  secret  thrust  t  lat  had  so  be- 
friended the  great  Earl  of  Leicester,  his  own 
we  ij  on  was  turned  aside,  and  at  the  same 
moni?nt  the  other  passed  through  his  body. 
Poor  Gabriel  !  he  uttered  but  one  groan,  and 
fell  dead  at  the  feet  of  his  adversary. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  greatly  shocked, 
but  he  saw  at  a  glance  no  human  aid  could 
avail.  Ben  Jonson  seemed  no  less  dis- 
tressed ;  it  was  evident  he  was  terribly 
moved,  anJ  he  vowed  very  earnestly  lie 
would  willingly  give  all  he  was  w-orth  in 
the  world  such  a  mischance  had  not  hap- 
pened. He  called  to  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler to  help  to  beir  his  friend  out  of  the  field, 
but  the  noble  captain  had  thought  it  much 
better  to  bear  himself  out,  as  soon  as  he  be- 
held the  turn  things  had  taken,  and  was  no 
longer  witliin  hearing.  He,  however,  did 
not  i'orgei  to  take  with  him  the  goodly  ra- 
pier, wiiich  he  had  so  lately  sold  at  so  poor 
a  price,  in  the  i'ullest  conviction  that  its 
matchless  character  must  be  of  much  more 
advantage  to  a  living  teacher  of  fence  than 
to  a  dead  pupil. 

With  the  assistance  of  some  laboring  men 
from  an  adjoining  brick-field,  the  body  of 
Gabriel  Spencer  was  removed  to  a  filter 
resting-place  ;  and  his  death  was  so  much 
spoken  of,  as  soon  as  it  became  known,  that 
Ben  Jonson  found  it  necessary  to  remove 
himself  as  far  from  the  scene  of  the  fatal 
quarrel  as  was  possible  for  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Let  me  crave 
Thy  virtuous  help  to  keep  from  grave 
This  poor  mortal,  that  here  lies 
Availing  when  the  destinies 
Will  undo  his  thread  uf  life. 

The  Faithful  Shepherdess. 

Into  a  certain  tenement  that  was  in  the 
village  of  Shottery,  must  we  now  introduce 
the  courteous  reader.      Certes,  this  same 


dwelling  was  none  of  the  stateliest,  yet  had 
it  very  fair  accommodations  for  those  who 
dwelt  therein,  and  an  exceeding  inviting  ap- 
pearance fjomthe  higiiway  before  it,  when 
the  twining  woodbine  which  covered  the 
porch,  and  clung  round  the  rasem  aits,  and 
about  every  pan,  up  to  the  eaves,  with  infin- 
ite luxuriousness,  was  in  its  fulle.-t  bloom — 
the  more  especial  when  there  was  a  fair 
posy  of  freshest  flovVLTS  st  aiding  in  some 
convenient  vessel  on  the  window-siU,  and 
through  the  open  door  there  could  be  seen  a 
glimpse  of  the  fruit-trees  in  the  garden,  in 
fullest  bloom,  or  with  store  of  p.ippins  and 
cherries  on  their  pleasant  boughs,  while, 
before  the  door,  two  rosy-cheeked  girls  sat 
with  an  exceeding  fair  show  of  diligence — 
the  one  knitting  of  hose,  and  the  other,  evi- 
dently, scarce  a  year  older,  spinning  at  her 
wheel,  ever  and  anon  looking  from  her  la- 
bors to  regard  or  give  some  sage  admoni- 
tions— marvellous  for  one  of  lier  tender 
years — to  a  laughing,  shouting,  lovely  boy, 
twinned  at  a  birth  with  her  sitter,  who  was 
romping  and  rioting  with  a  young  hound  of 
a  noble  breed,  at  a  little  distance,  the  two 
rolling  over  each  other  on  the  grass  with 
admirable  good  fellowship  on  both  sides, 
and  a  huge  outcry  of  mingled  barking  antl 
sliouting  ;  and  presently  the  dog,  breaking 
away  from  his  companion,  and  standing  at 
some  little  way  ofi",  uttering  many  a  short 
joyful  bark,  and  wagging  of  his  tail  very 
famously,  watching  the  movements  of  his 
lovely  playfellow,  and  bounding  olf  again 
as  the  boy  sought  to  lay  hold  of  him.  and 
repeating  these  antics  till  he  graciously  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  caught. 

Then  broke  out  afresh  the  noisy  play  with 
so  wild  an  uproar,  that  it  would  bring  out 
the  alarmed  mother  from  her  household- 
work,  and  thereupon  she  would  rate  the  boy 
and  the  dog,  for  their  blameableness  in  cre- 
ating so  horrid  a  din,  and,  more  ihan  all, 
rate  the  elder  sister  for  having  allowed  it. 
Whereof  the  result  would  be,  the  dog  would 
presently  look  as  grave  as  dog  ever  h.oked 
when  found  at  lault,  and,  spying  of  a  beggar 
at  the  end  of  the  village,  woukrset  oft"  with 
a  monstrous  eagerness  down  the  road  to 
show  his  extreme  watchfulness  ;  the  boy 
would  return  to  the  task  he  had  been  con- 
ning, ere  weariness  made  him  fling  it  aside 
for  choicer  entertainment;  and  the  elder 
girl,  after  many  loving  words,  endeavoring 
to  impress  on  the  truant  the  exceeding  pro- 
fitableness of  book  over  play,  would  continue 
her  spinning,  and  her  discourse  with  her 
sister  on  divers  matters  seeming  to  be  of  the 
most  absolute  importance,  which  had  been 
so  rudely  interrupted. 


30 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


By  the  time  the  matron  had  left  the  door, 
the  dog  had  relumed  to  his  accustomed 
place  bcibre  the  house.  At  lirst  he  put  on 
;ui  exceeding  discreet  behavior,  only  ven- 
turing to  cast  a  wistt'iil  glance  at  his  fellow 
culj)nt,  when  tired  of  scratching  at  his  ears, 
biting  at  his  tail,  snapping  at  the  tlies  tliat 
ventured  in  iiis  neighborhood,  or  following 


been  leading  a  horrible  ungodly  life,  in  all 
sorts  of  riotous  ill-living — taking  liitle  note 
of  his  poor  wife  and  sweet  young  family, 
save  once  in  a  way  or  so  coming  to  see 
them. 

Then,  if  the  intelligencer  were  a  woman, 
which  was  like  enougb,  and  a  careless  and 
unthrifty  wife,  which  was  not  impossible. 


any  of  those  employments  mo^t  in  request  she  would  be  monstrously  indignant  at  the 
among  dogs  of  all  degrees,  when  not  in-  barbarousness  of  husbands,  saying  that,  as 
clined  for  sleep,  food,  or  other  occupation,  j  far  as  she  knew,  one  was  not  a  whit  better 
For  awhile  the  head,  so  rich  in  shining  than  another ;  wives  were  to  be  slaves  for- 
curls,  of  his  playfellow,  was  not  raised  from  sooth,  and  to  be  cast  aside  like  old  garments 
his  task ;  but  ere  long  it  was  slowly  lifted  not  fitting  to  be  worn  when  the  occasion 
up.  j  served,  while  their  dissatisfied  partners  did 

As  soon  as  the  child's  eyes  met  those  of  |  nought  but  lind  fault  and  give  trouble. 
his  fast  friend,  the  latter  lett  off  what  he  was  \  Much  more  to  the  same  pur[)o.se  was  like 
then  about ;  his  tail  was  in  motion  on  the  to  follow,  was  her  companion  inclined  to 
instant ;  at  tir.~t  slowly  and  softly,  then  listen,  but  it  most  frequently  happened  she 
beating  of  the  ground  with  monstrous  vig-  :  was  brought  back  to  the  proper  subject  of 
orous  tluunps,  as  he  ventured  on  a  subdued  inquiry,  and  then  proceeded  to  communicate 
bark.  Anon,  some  little  encouragement  numberless  interesting  particulars  relating 
covertly  given  by  the  boy,  set  him  leaping  to  the  persons  whom  she  had  before  men- 
around  him,  at  a  short  distance,  making  it  tioned  ;  and  the  stranger,  unless  he  sought 
less  and  the  bark  louder  as  the  other  in-  other  information,  went  away  with  the  im- 
creased,  the  evidence  he  could  not  avoid  prossion  that  of  all  the  base,' idle,  careless, 
showing  of  the  pleasure  with  which  his  profligate  husbands,  unnatural  fathers,  and 
playmate's  proceedings  were  regarded.  It  intolerable  worthless  varlets,  one  Will 
was  rarely  the  temptation  was  long  resisted.  Sliakspeare  was  the  worst,  out  of  all  doubt. 
The  task  was  again  cast  aside,  and  they  |  But  the  other  tale  was  of  an  exceeding 
were  presently  frolicking  together  with  diflerent  complexion,  inasmuch  as  it  de- 
more  noisy  enjoyment  than  ever.  {  scribed  the  said  Will  as  being  the  son  of  a 

Such  was  the  scene,  with  occasional  tri-  '  respectable  Burgess  of  Stratford-;  some  time 
fling  variations,  that  had  every  sunny  morn-  since  Alderman  and  High  Bailiff  of  that 
ing  for  the  last  year  or  two,  been  presented   town,  a  youth  well  esteemed  of  many  for 


to  the  ordinary  wayfarer  when  passing 
througli  the  quiet  village  of  Shottery.  Did 
it  appear  he  was  a  stranger  in  these  parts, 
and,  struck  by  the  singular  beauty  and  in- 
tehigence  of  the  children,   must  needs  in- 


his  singular  flne  talent  in  the  writing  of 
ballads  and  plays,  who  was  inveigled  into  a 
marriage  ere  he  was  eighteen,  by  an  artful 
cozening  jade  nigh  upon  old  enough  to  be 
his  mother,  whose  temper  was  of  that  in- 


quire to  whom  they  belonged,  he  was  sure   tolerable  sort  he  was  forced  to  fly  bis  native 
to  hear  one  of  two  monstrous  different  sto- ^  town,  rather  than  endure   any  more  of  it, 


ries — perchance  both 

One  was,  that  the  mother  was  the  daugh 


and  seek  his  fortune  in  London,  where  his 
marvellous  skill  and  learnino-  so  wrouoht 


ter  of  an  honest  yeoman,  whose  sons  lived   upon  the  Queen's  Highness,  it  was  said  she 
in  the  house  higher  up  the  road,  where  the    would  have  had  him  riglit  willingly  to  have 


family  of  the  Hathaways  had  dwelt  time 
out  of  mind,  and  that  Anne,  instead  of  mar- 
rying some  person  of  substance  and  repute 
among  her  neighbors,  as  was  expected  of 
her,  and  as  she  might  have  done,  had  she 


been  her  husband,  had  he  not  had  already  a 
wife  of  his  own.  Nevertheless,  this  stood 
so  little  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  that 
his  fortune  was  made  presently  by  her 
Highness,  who  would  scarce  let  him  out  of 


BO  desired — there  being  no  lack  of  such  j  her  sight,  and  it  was  with  uiuch  ado  he 
anxious  to  be  connected  with  so  worthy  a  could  escape  from  her  to  attend  to  the  wants 
man  as  John  Hathaway — had  taken  up  :  of  his  young  family,  who  with  their  mother 
with  a  young  fellow  from  Stratford  (whose  \  he  maintained  with  so  liberal  an  exhibition, 
father  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse),  so  '  taking  for  her  the  house  in  which  she  then 
wild  in  his  courses  that,  after  stealing  of,  dwelt,  and  hlling  it  with  comforts  such  as 
Sir  Tliomas  Lucy's  deer,  beating  his  men, ;  no  woman  of  her  condition  had  experienced, 
and  numbeiless  worse  offences,  he  abandon-  tliat  she  was  envied  of  all  the  wives  in  the 
ed  his  wife  and  his  three  children,  and  joined  1  village, 
the  players  in  London,  where  he  had  since  1      Siiould  the  teller  of  this  tale  be  a  man 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


31 


95  13  not  unlikely,  and  had  a  thriftless  idle 
bagfao-e,  with  a  goodly  spice  of  the  shrew 
in  her,  for  a  wife,  wliich  many  men  have 
had  before  now,  he  will  at  this  point  of  his 
discour.se  speak  terrible  bitter  things  of  the 
wretchedness  of  husbands  that  have  such 
vile  jades  for  to  be  tlicir  helpmates,  and  if 
the  strangar  check  him  not,  it  is  like  he 
will  be  mons  rous  moving  upon  his  own 
grievance  in  this  particular,  till  he  do. 

He  will  then  straightway  be  ready  to  take 
his  oath  on  it,  so  loving  a  husband  and  ten- 
der a  father  as  Mast  -r  Shakspeare  never 
lived  in  this  world  ;  that,  despite  his  dame's 
crabbedne^s,  artfulness,  and  folly,  he  had 
tried  all  tilings  to  induce  her  to  be  a  good 
wife  to  him  ;  and  that  on  his  children  he  so 
doated,  lie  lavished  his  whole  gains  in  the 
bringing  of  them  up  tenderly.  The  boy  in 
especiaf  he  had  such  proud  hopes  of,  it 
was  said  he  had  writ  a  play  wherein  he 
was  made  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  the 
Prince  of  Denmark.  Thereupon  the  stran- 
ger would  quit  the  |)lace  in  llie  opinion  that 
the  said  iMaster  Shakspeare  was  made  up 
of  every  wonderfullcst  excellence,  and  was 
so  fortunate  withal,  save  in  the  matter  of 
his  wife,  that  he  could  not  but  envy  him  his 
gifts. 

Whereabouts  lyeth  the  truth  betwixt  these 
contrary  statements,  the  courteous  reader 
will  doubtless  be  able  in  some  sort  to  deter- 
mine. 

It  hath  been  discovered  by  some  prying, 
impertinent  jackanapes  or  another,  that  the 
brigiit  source  of  all  that  we  have  of  splen- 
dor, clearness,  and  excellence  in  things  visi- 
ble, hath  on  it  divers  unsightly  sputs.  If 
that  face  which  is  of  such  wondrous  bril- 
liance no  gaze  can  be  fixed  on  it  for  long 
and  not  blinded,  be  so  disfigured,  it  is  utter 
foolishne>s  in  expect  the  fairest  and  perfect- 
fectest  thing  in  nature  to  be  free  of  speck  or 
flaw. 

The  sun  throweth  out  his  golden  beams 
with  so  unmeasured  a  prodigality  that  none 
save  such  poor  inquisitorial  critical  knaves, 
who,  if  allowed  to  see  a  hair's  breadth  be- 
yond their  noses,  must  do  so  only  to  find 
fault  with  what  most  helpeth  them  in  the 
use  of  their  sight,  would  be  so  horribly  un- 
grateful as  to  point  out  any  small  defect  in 
him  visible  only  after  intolerable  prying  and 
searching,  quite  regardless  of  the  prodigious 
heap  of  benefit  all  derive  at  his  hands. 

Wherefore,  in  portraying  of  certain  spots 
in  this  our  intellectual  sun,  or  rather  such 
as  do  so  appear  when  viewed  in  ignorance 
of  the  circumstances  which  produced  them, 
the  whicli  becometh  proper  and  necessary 
for  the  full  understanding  of  the  subject — it 


behoveth  all  who  read,  to  be  mindful  of  the 
incalculable  advantages  placed  at  our  dis- 
posal by  the  infinite  generousness  of  his 
nature,  and  if  there  shoukl  be  any  grievous 
error  mixed  up  with  such  bountiful  store  of 
good,  let  us  straightway  regard  with  a  proper 
humility  the  knowledge  that  the  sweetest, 
gentlest,  noblest  of  God's  creatures  could 
not  escape  the  debasing  touch  of  evil. 

Perad venture,  this  blemish,  if  any  thero 
be,  shall  b3  none  so  great — at  least  it  must 
needs  leave  good  warrant  for  the  exercise 
of  our  charity. 

In  the  blooming  daughter  of  the  honest 
yeoman  of  bhottery,  of  a  surety,  tliere  was 
no  lack  of  womanly  tenderness.  Yet  so 
frequently  did  her  womanly  vanity  under 
evil  counsel  get  the  better  of  her  better  qual- 
ities, it  was  rarely  the  latter  were  allowed 
their  natural  influence. 

To  one  of  so  sensitive  a  sort,  as  he  to 
whom  the  church  had  given  her,  whose  as- 
pirations pointed  to  such  fine  issues,  and 
whose  affections  could  embrace  only  what 
was  most  choice,  such  intractablencss  as  she 
exhibited  must  needs  have  produced  in  him 
a  sense  of  intolerable  discomfort. 

In  the  very  flush  of  youth,  p  >ssessed  of  all 
those  personal  gills  that  do  most  attract  a 
loving  woman's  eye,  and  having  such  prodi- 
gal graces  of  mind  and  heart  withal,  as  Vv^o- 
man  never  yet  resisted,  it  is  like  enough  his 
nature  was  as  ready  to  meet  the  love  he  had 
sought  so  earnestly  with  such  little  profit, 
as  were  the  natures  of  all  sucii  fond  and 
loveable  creatures  with  whom  ho  chanced  to 
associate,  eager  to  assist  him  to  its  attain- 
ment. 

Directly  it  chanced  he  had  the  means  at 
his  commandment,  his  thoughts  turned  to- 
wards a  suitable  provision  for  his  vviib  and 
young  family.  Ho  had  the  pleasant  cottage 
in  which  they  had  since  dwelt  at  Shottery 
taken  for  them,  and  furnished  with  all  things 
useful  and  proper  in  abundance,  and  their 
several  wants  were  so  fully  considered,  no 
family  in  the  village  were  so  well  cared  for. 

He  never  allowed  a  year  to  pass  without 
paying  them  a  visit,  at  which  times,  as  may 
well  be  imagined,  he  was  not  like  to  come 
empty-handed.  Indeed,  so  prodigal  was  he 
in  the  giving  of  such  things  as  children 
most  desire,  and  so  many  other  ways  had  he 
of  winning  their  young  hearts,  his  coming 
was  looked  for  by  them  all  with  monstrous 
eagerness  ;  but  not  more  anxious  were  they 
for  his  return,  than  was  he  to  be  amongst 
them,  for  so  loving  a  father  was  he,  it  mat- 
tered not  what  pleasures  and  honors  awaited 
him  among  his  many  excellent  noble  pat- 
rons and  friends,  when  the  time  approached 


32 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


for  his  customary  visit,  he  was  as  impaliont 
to  be  on  the  road,  as  ever  was  lover  to  meet 
his  mistress. 

That  he  loved  tliem  all  was  most  mani- 
fest;  but  of  his  three  children,  there  was 
one  whom  he  loved  with  so  intinite  and  ab- 
solute a  devotedness,  it  moved  every  heart 
that  saw  it.  Tiiis  was  his  only  son  Ham- 
net.  The  helple.ss  infant,  the  tottering  child, 
and  the  romping  Loy,  were  regarded  iiy  him, 
as  the  fond  father  year  after  year  saw  him 
take  on  himself  these  several  characters, 
with  an  intensity  of  interest,  such  as  no;ie 
but  a  doating  parent  can  have  any  thought 
of.  His  aiiection  became  a  passion — the 
powerfiillest  impulse  of  his  existence.  His 
thoughts  seemed  to  tend  in  one  direction 
with  a  constancy  that  was  rivalled  only  by 
the  ever-steady  compass. 

Fame,  weali  b,  friends,  and  all  the  other  cov- 
etable  enjoyments  of  life  he  sought  for  oiily 
as  a  means  of  elevating  this  lovely  boy  into 
a  manhood  tliat  might  find  its  pi  ics  am.ong 
the  [)rouJest  of  the  land,  and  insure  for 
many  generations  living  evidences,  readily 
obtaining  high  fortune  and  distinction,  that 
the  name  of  Shakspeare  was  not  of  a  per- 
ishablj  SO!  t. 

Oft  and  off,  would  his  musings  take  unto 
themsL'lves  shapes  whereof  the  purport  was 
his  son's  greatness  in  some  one  way  or 
another ;  and  he  would  further  delight  bis 
humor  by  imagining  such  glorious  scenes 
wliereof  this  most  precious  boy  was  the 
chief  feature,  as  one  of  such  wondrous 
qualities  of  heart  and  mind  could  alone 
conceive. 

As  he  grew  up,  so  grew  the  love  with 
which  he  was  regarded  by  his  proud,  affec- 
tionate, and  exceeding  sanguine  father.  His 
wants  were  ministered  to  with  a  hand  that 
left  no  room  for  an  unsatisfied  desire  of  ;iny 
sort  to  have  a  moment's  existence.  The 
anxious  parent,  when  he  last  parted  from 
him,  not  only  charged  divers  his  zealous 
friends  at  Stratford  and  thereabouts, to  watch 
over  his  safety  and  happiness,  as  was  his 
wont  on  sucii  occasions,  but  provided  that 
his  education  should  be  carried  on  with  all 
pos-iblo  advantages,  having  secured  as  an 
instructor  for  biin  that  excellent  ripe  scholar, 
the  learned  Vicar  of  Stratford,  Master  Rich- 
ard Bilield. 

Hamnet,  now — no  longer  the  romping 
child  who  loved  far  better  than  aught  else 
in  the  world  beside  a  tumble  in  tbe  grass 
with  Talbot,  who  had  lieen  his  faithful  friend 
and  ready  playmate  from  earliest  infiincy — 
was  a  thin  tnll  boy,  in  his  thirteenth  year, 
who,  as  regularly  as  any  clock  in  the  parish, 
might  be  met  on  the  road  to  Stratford  every 


morning  and  afternoon  with  his  satchel 
stripped  over  liis  jerkin,  intently  conning 
of  a  book  that  was  in  his  hand,  halting  not, 
nor  turning  to  the  risrht  or  lelt,  let  th  re  be 
what  attraction  fori. neof  his  age  there  might, 
but  proceeding  direct  to  the  vicarage,  there 
to  say  his  daily  tasks  to  Master  Bilield.  And 
on  his  return  home — it  was  not  as  other  boys 
would,  when  let  loose  from  school,  in  disor- 
derly rioting — and,  like  enough,  any  mis- 
chief that  looked  easiest  to  do,  but  walk- 
ing the  same  serious  pace,  and  as  earnestly 
studying  his  book  as  on  his  leaving  home. 
Even  when,  on  approaching  the  village,  his 
old  favorite  came  bounding  towards  him 
with  his  well-remembered  joyful  bark,  the 
only  recognition  he  had  of  the  studious  boy 
was  an  ali'ectionate  pat  or  two  from  bis  dis- 
engaged hand,  as  the  dog  leaped  on  him, 
and,  without  moving  his  g:izefrom  the  page, 
he  would  continue  his  walk  to  his  mother's 
door,  his  hnnd  resting  on  his  four-footed 
friend,  who  now  walked  sedately  at  his  side, 
ever  and  anon  casting  a  glance  at  the  pale 
face  of  his  once  rosy  playfellow,  and  giving 
a  low  whine,  that  seemed  to  express  a  very 
monstrous  concern  at  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  him. 

The  amusements  to  which  his  sisters  in- 
vited him,  with  abundance  of  sweet  entrea- 
ties and  caresses,  and  the  sharp  dissatisfac- 
tion of  his  mother,  at  ever  finding  him  poring 
over  some  book  or  another,  were  as  little 
effii  acious  in  making  any  alteration  in  his 
excessive  studiousness.  '1  he  commendation 
he  had  of  his  excellent  instructor,  for  his 
diligence  and  forwardness  in  all  manner  of 
learning,  and  the  exceeding  pleasure  as 
Master  Bifield  told  him  frerpiently,  it  would 
be  to  his  loving  father  to  find  him  so  good  a 
scholar,  made  him  so  exert  himself  to  ad- 
vance rapidly  in  his  studies,  that,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  he  seemed  intent  on  noth- 
ing but  the  learning  of  everything  he  could 
be  set  at. 

Proud  was  the  master  of  such  a  pupil.  In 
truth,  he  was  too  proud  of  him  to  be  suffi- 
ciently discreet.  He  had  been  a  scholar  all 
his  lite  long — poor  in  this  world's  gear,  but 
rich  in  virtue,  learning,  and  all  iiood  gifts  ; 
and  so  conspicuous  were  his  merits,  that, 
when  the  former  schoolmaster  was  summa- 
rily sent  from  an  office  he  had  too  long  dis- 
graced, such  recommendation  of  his  fine 
parts  was  made  to  the  patron  of  the  vicar- 
age, as  caused  that  very  estimable,  pious 
gentleman  to  bestow  it  on  him,  to  the  great, 
and  lasting  profit  of  the  parishioners. 

Long  and  severe  study  had  made  sad  in- 
roads in  his  health,  ere  he  commenced  his 
new  duties ;  and  the  heavy  labors  lie  set 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


33 


himself,  to  undo  the  many  mischiefs  caused 
by  the  disrepiitabb  acts  of  his  predecessor, 
wrought  on  liis  constitution  still  fartiier  evil 
He  disregarded  severity  of  weather,  and  all 
other  inconveniences  whatsoever,  in  the  do- 
ing of  tae  v.irious  pious  oifiees  he  might  at 
any  time  or  season  be  called  upon  to  per- 
form. This,  in  time,  reduced  him  to  a  mere 
skeleton  in  appearance  ;  an  J,  though  yet  in 
the  prime  of  life,  so  feeble  in  body  was  he, 
he  was  scarce  ever  able  to  do  more  than 
the  least  laborious  of  his  customary  duties. 
As  he  complained  not  to  any  one,  and  was 
ever  of  a  clieerfal  disposition,  none  took  him 
to  be  in  so  bad  a  case  as  he  was  ;  but  the 
sunken  cheek  and  eyes,  emaciated  frame, 
and  coast  mt  teazing  cough,  were  signs  that 
ought  not  to  have  been  disregarded. 

At  last  he  got  so  much  worse, he  was  fain 
to  take  to  his  bed.  Nevertheless,  such  was 
his  love  for  Hamnet,  he  would  have  him  say 
his  tasks  at  hiS  bedside  with  the  youiu 
scholir's  accustomed  regularity,  and  co.n- 
meiid  him,  and  set  him  farcher  lessons,  and 
discourse  with  him  on  all  milters  wherein 
he  licked  intelligence,  though  the  sick  min 
was  scarce  able  to  move  a  Innb,  or  use 
his  voice  above  a  whisper.  Surely  such  a 
sight  hath  rarely  been  seen  as  presented 
it-self  every  morning  and  afternoon  in  the 
vicar  s  antique  chamber. 

Perchance,  on  his  first  entering,  the  boy 
would  have  with  him  some  choice  fruit  of 
his  own  plucking,  or  dainty  posie  of  his  own 
githering,  or  some  other  choice  thing  or 
ano:her  to  jilease  tie  sick  mm's  eye  or  pal- 
ate, and  with  these  in  his  hand  he  would 
first  dut. fully  present  them  to  his  master, 
not  forgetting  the  while  to  ask  earnestly 
whether  he  was  mending  ;  and  then,  having 
received  all  proper  thaniis  and  the  necessa- 
ry reply,  he  would  put  the  l^owers,  or  wiiat- 
ever  it  might  be,  wtiere  he  thought  his  mas- 
ter would  be  best  pleased  to  have  them,  and 
then  take  his  accustomed  place  and  beg  n 
his  proper  task.  In  sooth,  ir  then  became 
a  scene  of  no  ordinary  interest. 

There  was  the  zealous  master,  pale  as 
any  ghost,  lying  supported  by  pillows,  one 
shrunken  arm  and  bony  hand  resting  on  the 
coverlet,  his  eyes  brightening  as  he^noticed 
the  exceeding  aptness  of  his  ddigent  scho- 
lar, who,  with  visage  having  but  litde  mnre 
warrant  of  health  m  it,  stood  by  the  sombre 
tapestry  at  the  bed's  head,  atFectionately  and 
reverently  regarding  his  excellent  instruc- 
tor, as  he  repeated  without  a  fault  the  vari- 
ous lessons  he  had  been  tasked  with.  This 
done,  Hamnet  would  seek  to  do  the  sick 
man  all  manner  of  loving  offices,  which  tlie 
other  tooic  as  though  he   would  have  them 


done  by  none  other  than  he ;  and,  whefl 
there  was  nothing  left  to  do,  the  scholaf 
looked  as  loth  to  go  as  was  the  master  td 
have  him  depart.  iJut  at  last  came  an  af- 
fectionate fear,  e.xpressed  by  the  sick  man, 
th.it  the  boy's  mother  would  needs  be  mad© 
more  anxious  for  his  safety  than  was  right 
he  should  make  her,  delayed  he  his  depar- 
ture any  longer  ;  and,  with  heartfelt  bles- 
sings on  the  one  side,  and  as  fervent  pray- 
ers on  the  other,  the  two  would  separate  for 
that  day. 

This  went  on  for  some  weeks,  Master 
Bitield  making  so.ne  small  progress  towards 
recovery,  though  still  too  feeble  to  leave  his 
chamber,  when  it  chanced  that  one  morn- 
ing, at  the  usual  hour,  marvellous  as  it  wasy 
tae  punctual  scholar  made  not  his  appear- 
ance. The  worthy  vicar  at  first  thougat  he 
might  have  been  stayed  by  his  mother ; 
then  he  fancied  he  had  gone  with  his  sisters 
to  some  distance,  and  had  not  got  back  ia 
ti.ne  to  get  to  the  vicarage;  and  then  made 
for  hiin  some  other  excuse  equally  reasona- 
ble.    Bat  still  he  came  not. 

Hour  after  hour  p.issed  by,  to  the  prodig- 
ious surprise  of  tne  good  priest,  anJ  almost 
to  the  exiiaustiug  of  a  very  plentiful  stock 
of  reasons  for  Hamnet's  absence,  and  yet 
the  boy  was  no  nearer  his  pi  ice  by  his  mas- 
ter's bedside  than  at  lirst.  Tnui  proceeded 
the  day — a  most  uneasy  one  to  Mj.ster  Bi- 
iield,  and  it  was  succeeded  by  as  restless  a 
night. 

The  morning  found  him  not  less  san- 
guine ol  the  coming  of  his  beloved  scholar 
man  he  had  been  the  day  previous  ;  but, 
wuen  the  school-hour  arrived,  and  Hainnei 
came  not,  his  master  became  exceeding 
troubled,  and  at  o.ice  despatched  his  at- 
tached, out  somewiiat  too  querulous,  doiiios- 
tic  to  Siiotteri,  to  inquire  tae  cause  of  tha 
boy's  extraordinary  atjsonce. 

Master  Eitield  had  been  lying  in  his  bed^ 
monstrously  troubled  in  his  tiioughts  con- 
cerning the  absence  of  his  diligent  and  af- 
fectionate young  scholar,  wait.ng  vvita  pro 
digious  anxiety  the  return  of  Estiier,  when 
he  heard  a  step  he  knew  to  be  hers;  but,  to 
his  huge  disappointment,  the  ligiiter  and 
more  welcome  sound  of  Hamnet's  footsteps, 
did  not  accompany  it.  Presently  the  doof 
of  his  chamber  opened,  and  there  entered 
thereat  the  tall,  giunt  rigure  of  Esther,  clad 
with  her  usual  extreme  neatness,  and  wear- 
ing  a  visage  of  more  than  ordinary  serious* 
ness  and  melancholy  concern. 

As  soon  as  the  vicar  caught  sight  of  her* 
he  raised  himself  up  a  bit,  with  a  look  of 
exceeding  alarm.  "  Hast  seen  him  ?  Why 
doth  he  not  come  ?    Doth  aught  ail  the  boy  ? 


34 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Pryfhcc  sit  down  and  rest  thyself,  {^ood  Es- 
tlier,  after  tliy  walk;  and  let  ino  know,  as 
gpoodily  as  thou  canst,  what  keeps  Ilamnet 
from  the  vicarage.  When  will  he  come  ? 
f  lath  he  his  lesson  ready  ?  I  trust  he  will 
he  here  anon." 

Esther  (fid  not  sit.  She  saw  something- 
In  the  arrangrnient  of  the  things  nighest 
her  master  she  liked  not.  She  busied  her- 
self awhile  in  piitiing  them  more  conven- 
iently, and  of  all  the  questions  asked  of  her, 
she  replied  but  to  the  last,  and  that  was  with 
a  shaking  of  the  head,  that  looked  of  such 
bad  import  to  the  sick  man,  he  seemed 
etruck  with  a  sudden  fear. 

"Nay,  I  trust  in  God's  love  no  ill  hath 
happened  to  him !"  cried  he,  with  all  the 
fervor  of  tiie  excellent,  proper  Cliristian  he 
was  ;  but  seeing  that  his  messenger  con- 
tinued her  euipliiyment  as  though  she 
would  delay  uttering  what  she  liked  not  to 
say,  and  that  her  aspect  took  on  it  a  more 
painful  shade  of  seriousness,  he  caught  her 
by  the  arm,  and  added,  in  the  most  moving 
accents  ever  heard  :  "  I  prythoe,  good  Es- 
tlier,  tell  me  what  aileth  the  boy  ?  Some 
slight  tiling  or  another  of  which  he  shall  be 
well  presently  ?  I  may  expect  his  coming 
a  week  hence  at  the  farthest  ?" 

This  elicited  not  the  reply  he  wished,  for 
Esther  was  too  moved  to  commence  her 
task  as  an  intelligencer.  The  anxiety  of 
the  sick  man  mounted  to  an  agony,  and,  with 
features  blanched  witli  aftVight,  he  gasped 
out  "  Esther,  Esther!  jTythee  tell  me  not 
that  sweet  boy  is  dead  !" 

"  Nay,  master,  it  hath  not  come  to  that 
yet,"  replied  she,  in  a  tone  she  intended 
ehoulJ  be  consolatory.  "  But,"  she  added, 
thinking,  now  it  had  come  to  this  push,  it 
were  better  the  truth  should  be  known  at 
once,  "  an  if  1  know  aught  of  such  matters, 
%he  poor  boy's  days  are  nuuibered  in  this 
world.     God  help  him!" 

She  then  proceeded  to  state  how  evident 
to  every  one's  observation  the  young  scho- 
lar's health  had  been  rapidly  sinking  under 
his  too  great  study,  and  that,  after  getting 
wet  to  the  skin  in  a  sudden  rain,  on  return- 
ing home,  he  sat  in  his  damp  things  study- 
ing his  morrow's  lesson,  till  he  was  taken 
with  a  terrible  shivering  lit.  He  was  put 
to  bed,  but  in  the  morning  he  was  in  so  bad 
a  state,  the  apothecary  was  sent  for  from 
Stratford,  who  pronounced  him  to  be  in  the 
most  imminent  danger,  since  when  he  had 
been  getting  worse  every  hour,  and,  to  all 
appearance,  could  not  live  many  days. 

"  This  is  all  that  is  to  be  got  of  poring 
over  books,"  added  Esther,  emphatically. 
*  And  tliis,  Master,  hath  brought  you  to  a 


bed  of  siclaiess,  and  hath  been  this  many  a 
year  wearing  out  your  life  by  inches,  as  I 
have  warned  you  so  oft.  But,  alack  !  alack  ! 
my  paini-taking  hath  been  to  such  small 
profit,  that  you  have  not  only  been  destroy- 
ing of  y(un'self  with  such  [lestileut  things, 
but  have  allowed  this  poor  boy,  under  your 
own  eyes,  to  waste  his  sweet  young  life 
away,  after  the  same  horrible  fashion." 

Hitherto  the  sick  man  had  kept  staring  at 
his  companion,  too  bewildered  at  the  sudden 
blow  to  have  the  use  of  any  sense  save  that 
of  hearing.  But,  as  she  finished  her  speech, 
the  truth  of  what  she  had  stated  flashed 
upon  his  mind,  and  the  enormity  of  the  mis- 
chief he  had  done  presented  itself  to  him  so 
overpovveringly,  that  he,  with  a  sharp  cry, 
clasped  his  hands  together  and  sunk  in  a 
swoon  on  the  bed. 

Esther  flew  to  him  on  the  instant,  and 
with  the  tender  interest  of  a  mother  adminis- 
tered such  remedies  as  she  knew  were  of 
mo.'^t  efficacy  in  such  cases.  As  soon  as 
he  recovered  his  senses,  he  seemed  to  have 
a  strength  he  had  not  known  a  long  time, 
and  called  for  his  apparel.  In  vain  his  faith- 
ful attendant  attempted  to  dissuade  him  from 
his  intention,  but  he  would  attend  to  no  sug- 
gestions or  apprehensions.  Dressing  him- 
self as  quickly  as  he  might,  talking  the 
while  as  though  to  himself,  now  bitterly  con- 
demning his  own  negligence  of  Hamnet's 
health,  and  then  breaking  out  into  tlie  fond- 
est praises  of  his  promising  scholarship,  he 
took  his  stafl'  in  his  hand,  left  his  chamber, 
w:ilked  out  of  the  vicarage  with  a  step  he 
had  not  known  any  so  firm  these  ten  years, 
and  proceeded  the  directest  way  to  the  cot- 
tage at  Shottery. 


CHAPTER  V. 

If  thou  be  scorn'd, 
Disdaine  it  not :  for  preachers  grave 

Are  still  dispis'd,  by  faces  hornde, 
When  they  for  better  manners  crave. 

That  hap,  which  fails  on  men  divine, 

If  thou  feele,  doe  not  repine. 

A  Gl,ASSE  TO  VIEW   THE  PrIDE  OF  VaIN-GLOKIOUS 

Women. 

"  A  FEW  words,  John,  and  wc  must  needs 
part.  Heaven  only  knoweth  whether  it 
may  be  our  fortune  to  meet  again ;  but, 
however  it  shall  chance,  I  am  fully  per- 
suaded— I  thank  God  very  heartily  for  an 
assurance  so  comfortable  tn  a  mother — you 
will  do  no  discredit  to  your  bringing  up.  In 
sooth,  you  are  a  notable  good  youth,  and 
seem  like  enough  to  keep  your  honored  fa- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


35 


ther's  name — blessed  be  his  memory  !  in 
fair  repute  as  long  as  it  shall  be  in  your 
keeping." 

"  I  trust  so,  good  mother.  I  will  do  all 
ihat  I  needs  can  that  you  shall  have  not  one 
minute's  discomfort  from  my  behavior." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  my  dear  boy.  In  sooth, 
the  knovvled^je  of  your  well-disposedness  is 
my  great  solace  and  conteatation  in  this 
trying  hour.  I  have  provided  you,  without 
sparing  cost  or  care,  with  such  learning  as 
you  had  the  greatest  liking  for  ;  and  you, 
having  made  choice,  of  your  own  free  will, 
of  the  calling  or  profession  of  medicine — as 
excellent  proper  choice  as  could  have  been 
made — I  have,  as  is  already  known  to  you. 
entered  into  sucli  arrangements  with  one  of 
the  notablest  London  physicians,  for  your 
sojourning  witii  him  until  you  have  com- 
pleted your  necessary  studio.s  in  the  treatnig 
of  diseases,  in  the  nature  of  simples  and  the 
like — for  the  which  I  think  it  but  right  I 
.sliould  tell  you,  I  have  taxed  my  means  to 
the  utmost,  that  you  may  use  whatsoever 
diligence  you  have,  they  be  not  rendered  un- 
prohtable." 

'•  That  will  I,  rest  assured.  It  would  be 
a  villanous  ill  return,  methinks,  for  your  ex- 
quisite sweet  goodness  to  me  at  all  times, 
were  I  to  be  amiss  in  any  thing." 

"  You  know  not  what  temptations  may 
assail  you  in  that  great  city  whereto  you 
are  going — the  whicli,  I  grieve  to  say,  hath 
the  horri blest  bad  character  ever  heard — for 
you  have  been  brought  up  so  homely,  in 
these  retired  parts,  no  bruit  of  such  could 
have  reached  you." 

"  r  faith,  it  mattereth  not,  sweet  mother. 
You  have  taught  me — I  give  you  my  very 
iieartiest  thanks  for  it — to  know  good  from 
evil,  to  ibilow  the  one  and  eschew  the  other ; 
and  that  will  suffice,  let  me  go  where  I 
will." 

"  I  hope  and  trust,  with  all  my  heart  and 
spirit,  it  may." 

Tims  spoke  mother  and  son  on  the  eve  of 
a  parting  tlrat  seemed  like  to  he  of  some 
duration  ;  and,  alter  entering  more  into  par- 
ticulars in  the  way  of  cautions,  the  anxiuus 
parent  allowed  her  son  to  receive  her  last 
caress  and  her  blessing  ;  and,  in  company 
with  a  steady,  middle-aged,  serving-man, 
that  had,  in  better  times,  lived  at  livery  at 
his  father's  board  the  best  part  of  his  life,  he 
was  allowed  to  go  his  way. 

Simon  Stocktish  had  managed  to  get  the 
loan  of  two  steeds  lor  their  journey ;  one 
for  his  young  master,  and  the  other  for  his 
own  riding.  He  had  d^ne  all  that  he  could 
to  make  them  worthy  of  the  occasion,  but 
with  exceeding  small  profit,  for  Dapple  and 


Jack  were  two  as  worthless  and  misshapen 
brutes  as  were  ever  rode.  Dapjile — the  one 
liis  master  chose,  was  an  iron-gray,  as  an- 
cient a  piece  of  horseflesh  a-<  you  shall  see 
any  day,  rising  nigh  upon  sixteen  hands, 
and  so  bony  withal,  the  poor  youth  looked 
to  be  striding  a  tombstone  ;  and  his  head 
was  so  long  and  narrow,  his  ribs  so  ])ro:ni- 
nent,  such  a  goose-ruinp  iiad  lie,  and  his 
tail  was  so  short  and  stiff,  for  it  was  nothing 
but  a  stump  with  two  or  three  hair.-,  it  may 
well  be  imagined  the  horseman  was  not  en- 
vied of  other  equestrians. 

Simon  followed,  on  Jack,  a  little,  black, 
stifF-necked,  rough  and  ragged  c.irt-horse's 
colt,  with  long  mane  and  tail,  pretty  well 
oiT  for  flesh,  but  so  heavy  and  unwieldy 
withal,  that  when  he  trotted — which  seemed 
his  only  quick  pace,  and  one  not  easily  to 
get  him  into — his  hoofs  clattered  on  the 
ground  like  monstrous  hammers  on  an  an- 
vil. As  Simon  was  a  sturdy  kn  ive,  whose 
belt  encompassed  a  fair  rotundity  of  body, 
his  weight  was  not  like  to  make  his  steed's 
paces  any  the  lighter,  added  to  which,  he 
carried  behind  him  his  master's  wardrobe, 
at  his  holsters  a  brace  of  heavy  pistolets, 
and  at  his  side  a  formidable  rapier ;  but  the 
joking  he  got,  and  the  unseemhiuv-s  of  the 
anim:il  he  bestrode,  seemed  not  tj  incon- 
venience him  in  any  manner. 

He  retained  an  imuioveable  visage  of 
such  dignity  as  he  thought  best  bo^auie  one 
who  was  entrusted  with  the  guirdimship  ? 
of  his  young  master,  and  ridiag  at  a  re- 
spectful distance,  yet  near  enoagii  to  be  at 
hand  when  need  required  it,  he  cultivated 
his  ordinary  humor  of  taciturn. ty  whilst 
cogitating  on  the  constant  attentiveness  ne- 
cessary on  his  part  to  secure  his  old  mas- 
ter's only  son  from  the  dangers  which,  he 
believed,  were  sure  to  beset  lura  on  iiis  jour- 
ney to  London. 

But  all  this  time,  what  were  the  reflec- 
tions of  John  Hall  ?  The  young  student  of 
medicine  was  now  fairly  on  his  road  to  for- 
tune. Was  he  anticipating  his  career,  and 
seeing  a  brilliant  prospect  of  court  patients, 
and  liberal  fees  ?  Was  his  mind  turm-d  the 
other  way,  recalling  the  many  admirable 
pleasant  hours  he  had  enjoyed  in  tiie  famil- 
iar scenes  he  was  now  leaving  ;  perchance, 
never  to  see  again  ?  Was  he  regret:ing  the 
parting  with  his  fond  mother,  or  fixing  on 
his  attention  the  excellent  advice  he  had 
)ust  heard  from  her,  touching  his  behavior 
with  such  young  persons  of  her  sex  as  he 
might  be  about  to  associate  with  ? 

He  was  neither  thinking  of  the  past  nor 
the  future  ;  lamenting  his  separation  from 
a  doating  parent,  nor  caring  in  the  least 


36 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


whether  ho  was  or  was  not  to  mingle  with 
women  of  any  sort.  In  honest  truth,  he 
was  m.oroly  intently  qnestioninfj  of  himself 
whether  mnstird,  made  with  verjuice,  very 
sharj),  and  somewhat  tl)ick,  was  tlie  proper- 
est  remedy  for  a  quartan-ague. 

Thus  proceeded  the  two  for  sundry  miles, 
not  without  exciting  souie  curiousness  from 
every  one  they  met,  and  a  few  jeers  from 
such  rude  and  rustic  persons  as  are  sure  to 
be  found  in  every  highway,  conducting  of 
tliemselves  as  though  they  had  a  patent  for 
sauciness.  The  young  physician  was  often 
roused  from  his  deep  studies  by  some  un- 
mannerly waggoner,  or  insolent  groom, 
sho.iting  out  certain  inquiries  as  to  the 
number  of  years  that  had  elapsed  since  his 
steed  had  had  a  feed  of  corn  ;  and  a  sturdy 
beggar  clapped  liis  dish  on  his  head,  and 
fell  on  his  marrowbones,  in  a  seeming 
ecstasy  of  devotion  as  the  youth  passed  him, 
crying  how  blessed  he  was  in  being  allowed 
a  sight,  of  one  of  the  very  cattle  with  which 
Nebuchadnezzar  had  gone  to  grass. 

At  first,  John  Hall  had  given  no  thought 
of  the  ajipearance  he  cut  on  so  sorry  an  an- 
imal ;  and,  as  regarded  his  own  apjiarelling, 
was  well  content  with  the  cap  and  feather, 
the  sober  suit  of  russet,  and  the  stout  boots 
and  gloves  he  had  on  ;  but  at  last,  hearing 
of  so  many  scurvy  terms  applied  to  his 
horse,  he  got  ashamed  of  it,  and  Vv'ould  have 
preferred  going  the  journey  on  foot,  had  it 
been  possible.  He  knew,  however,  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  but  to  make  the  way  as 
short  as  possible  ;  therefore  he  put  his  spurs 
to  the  lank  sides  of  the  poor  beast,  and 
iirged  him  to  the  top  of  his  speed. 

If  it  was  ridiculous  to  see  the  tall,  gaunt, 
mis-hapen  thing  that  had  been  provided  for 
the  young  traveller's  riding,  proceeding  at  a 
walk,  it  was  a  thousand  times  more  so  when 
he  was  displaying  his  anatomy  in  his  awk- 
ward attempt  at  a  canter,  rendered  the  more 
ludicrous  when  Simon  Stockfish  came  after 
on  the  ugly  brute  he  had  under  him,  the 
which  he  was  urging  hnn  to  use  his  heavy 
heels  with  such  expedition  as  would  serve 
to  keep  him  at  a  convenient  distance  from 
the  other.  Whether  it  was  the  clattering 
of  this  brute's  iron  hoofs,  or  the  loud  shout 
set  up  when  passing  them  by  a  miller  and 
his  wife  going  together  on  one  horse  to  mar- 
ket, that  startled  the  old  grey,  is  not  known  ; 
but  certain  is  it  he  took  fright,  and  put  his 
old  bones  to  such  good  use,  as  made  all  who 
behold  him  marvel  exceedingly. 

Simon  Stockfish,  in  no  small  alarm,  strove 
all  he  could  to  get  nigher  to  his  master ; 
and,  what  with  the  spur  and  the  horrible 
discordant  noises  set  up  by  all  who  were  in 


sight  of  the  travellers,  the  young  horse  got 
as  much  fri  ^htened  as  the  old  one,  and  set 
ofT  after  him,  striking  fire  from  his  hoofs 
every  time  they  came  on  the  hard  ground, 
and  making  such  a  din  with  his  heels  as 
was  deafening  to  hear. 

Simon  pulled  his  statute  cap  over  his 
brows,  that  it  should  not  fall  off  his  head  ; 
and  then,  digging  his  knees  into  Jack's  fat 
sides,  and  grasping  his  long  mane  with  one 
hand  as  the  other  held  the  reins,  kept  his 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  figure  of  his  young 
master,  who  sat  firmly  in  his  seat.  The  in- 
creased clattering  behind  him,  and  the 
shouts  and  screams  by  which  he  was  as- 
sailed on  all  sides,  did  not,  as  may  easily 
be  believed,  serve  to  lessen  Dapplo's  fear ; 
and,  therefore,  the  two  continued  their 
course  to  the  huge  amusement  of  some,  and 
the  no  less  alarm  of  others,  for  many  miles. 

As  they  passed  through  the  villages,  the 
casements  were  thrown  open,  and  aspects 
of  alarm  and  wonder  projected  through  them. 
The  pigs  rushed  one  way,  the  geese  fled 
another.  The  parish  bull  galloped  bellow- 
ing to  the  gate  that  looked  inio  the  road, 
with  the  cows  at  his  heels.  Tiie  sheep  hud- 
dled together  to  what  they  thought  the  safest 
corner  of  the  field.  The  tinker's  ass  set  up 
a  hideous  bray,  as  he  rose  affrighted  from 
his  bed  of  nettles,  in  the  pound,  and  the 
fowls  took  refuge  on  the  top  of  the  cage ; 
whilst  the  children  got  out  of  the  way  with 
all  possible  speed,  and,  when  the  danger 
was  passed,  saluted  the  cause  of  it  with  the 
lull  energy  of  their  lungs,  and,  like  enough, 
the  more  mischievous  sort  took  to  throwing 
of  stunes  ere  the  horsemen  were  well  out  of 
their  neighborhood. 

At  last  the  travellers  came  to  a  wide 
heath,  through  which  was  a  road  that  con- 
tinued for  several  miles.  And  now,  as  they 
were  not  assailed  by  the  screams  and  shout- 
ings which  accompanied  their  fiight,  be- 
cause of  their  nor  meeting  any  one,  save  an 
old  woman,  driving  her  pig  to  the  next  town, 
who  fled  opposite  both  ways  over  the  heath, 
as  soon  as  Dapple  and  Jack  became  visible, 
and  both  the  horses,  being  horribly  tired  of 
tlie  exertions  they  had  made,  never  having 
being  so  put  to  it  all  their  lives  before,  they 
gradually  slackened  their  speed  till  each 
resumed  the  sober  pace  with  which  he  had 
started. 

John  Hall  looked  for  his  attendant,  and 
spying  him  at  the  customary  distance,  w^ith- 
out  a  word  said,  for  from  a  natural  shyness 
he  was  not  much  given  to  speech  with  any 
one,  he  returned  into  the  train  of  studious 
reflection  the  running  away  of  his  goodly 
steed  interrupted.     Simon  Stockfish  beheld 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


37 


his  charge  in  safety ;  and  he  was  so  con- 
tent, lie  also,  wiUiuut  any  manner  of  ditti- 
cuity,and  witii  as  little  coaiinoaity  of  phrase, 
iell  aj<ain  into  tiiiiikmg  of  llie  dangers 
that  tmvatjned  his  young  master,  whereof 
tha  imuiinent  one,  trom  which  he  had  but 
now  escaped,  he  marvelled  iiugely  he  had 
not  expected. 

So  intent  did  they  soon  become  in  their 
several  tiioiights  as  to  be  totally  regardless 
of  all  around.  'I'he  studejit  of  medicine 
was  canvassing,  in  his  mind,  the  question 
Wiietiier  Galen  or  Hippocrates  were  the  bet- 
ter autlioriiy  in  the  treatment  of  fevers, 
when,  of  a  sudden,  he  felt  himself  rudely 
seized  by  tiie  arm  and  leg,  and  in  a  moment 
was  on  tue  ground,  and  completely  in  the 
power  of  two  exceeding  suspicious-looking 
tatterdemalions.  Simon  Sicjckrish,  at  the 
sa.iie  tune,  was  cudgeiiing  of  his  brains  to 
find  die  best  meJiod  of  securing  his  young- 
charge  m  safety  to  his  journey's  end,  when 
he  was  pounced  on  in  a  like  manner  ;  and, 
ere  he  couU  touch  a  weapon,  was  complete- 
ly at  the  mercy  of  his  rude  captors. 

The  incautious  travellers  looked  mon- 
stiouoiy  astoniilied,  as  may  readily  be  sup- 
posed, at  linding  of  themselves  in  a  situa- 
tion so  littb  to  be  coveted.  'I'hey  had  not 
noticu'd  that  daikn:!ss  was  fast  approaching, 
andtliey  seemed  to  have  bjen  quite  regard- 
less of  the  many  miles  of  desolate  heath 
they  had  to  pass  ere  they  could  arrive  at  the 
place  appointed  lor  taeir  nig, it's  lodging.  It 
siandeth  to  reason  also,  tiiat  they  were 
equally  ignorant  ot  the  neighborhood  ot  the 
rude  knaves  who  had  so  suddenly  sjjrung 
upon  tnem  out  of  alioKow  made  by  digging 
for  sand,  that  was  close  upon  their  patli, 
where  they  apparently  had  lain  in  ambush. 

Neitaer  spoKe  a  word,  their  ordinary  po- 
verty of  speech  being  in  no  way  improved 
by  the  unexpected  peril  in  which  they  found 
tiiamselves,  uut  gazed  with  looks  uiade  up 
of  astonisinnent,  doubt,  and  fear,  at  each  ot 
the  scowling,  villanous  countjnances  of 
which  t.iey  nad  just  made  the  unwelcome 
acquaintance.  i\othing  there  were  they 
likely  10  find  to  aftbrd  them  comfort  of  any 
Bort ;  nor,  fiom  a  glance  of  their  soiled, 
patched,  and  rent  appareling,  could  it  be 
supposed  they  would  gam  any  greater  de- 
gree of  contjntation.  And  wuen  their  eyes 
met  the  threatening  weapons,  each  viUian 
hi'ld  over  them  huge  knives  and  heavy 
clubs,  they  presently  gave  themselves  up  to 
be  as  dead  men  as  ever  were  measured  for 
tlieir  coltins. 

It  w.ts  not  long  before  their  rude  captors 
proved  to  ihe.n  wnat  little  beiieht  Ihey  were 
like  to  receive  at  their  hands  ;  lor,  with  di- 


vers horrible  oaths  and  demands  to  each, 
wliii-h  WLre  but  too  intelligible  to  them,  and 
wiJi  sundry  strange  pliras^_s  to  each  other, 
neither  Simon  nor  his  young  mister  could 
tell  the  meaning  of,  they  took  to  plun^'ering 
them,  the  which  they  did  with  such  fimous 
expedition,  that  in  a  minute  or  so,  man  and 
master  were  as  naked  as  ever  they  were 
born. 

After  some  discourse,  however,  amongst 
ihemselves,  the  robbers  made  them  put  on 
garments  tliey  threw  off  for  that  ])urpose  ; 
and  when  the  young  physician  had  got  his 
legs  into  a  pair  of  greasy  slops  big  enough 
lor  a  Hollander,  and  a  tattered  jerkin,  that 
looked  to  have  been  measured  for  the  Colos- 
sus of  Rhodes,  and  Simon  Stockhsh  had 
placed  over  his  limbs  a  suit  of  faded  velvet, 
exceedingly  ragged,  patched,  and  soiled, 
that  might  have  suited  one  half  his  size, 
they  were  savagely  bid  to  go  with  their 
plunderers,  on  their  peril  making  any  noise 
or  attemj.ting  to  escape. 

All  then  left  tue  ordinary  road,  and  struck 
into  a  narrow  track,  numbers  of  which  ap- 
pealed to  traverse  the  heath,  crossing  each 
other  in  all  directions  ;  and  this  taey  lol low- 
ed, through  the  innumerable  windings 
whereof  it  seemed  to  consist,  for  a  good 
mile,  keeping  a  perfect  silence  tiie  whilst. 
'J^>  prisoners  so  surrounded,  escape  was 
out  of  the  question.  Taey  came,  at  lust,  to 
a  stagnant  pond,  whereat  they  haUed  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  one  of  the  knaves,  on  whose  vis- 
age gallows  was  written  in  as  legible  char- 
acters as  ever  wire  met  with,  put  his 
knuckles  to  his  mouth  and  blew  so  shrill  a 
whistle,  it  seemed  to  Simon  and  his  master 
to  pierce  their  very  ears.  This  had  sc  .rce 
been  done  when,  at  a  great  distance,  an- 
other was  heard  in  reply.  John  Hall  look- 
ed in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  but 
nothing  met  his  eye  but  a  wide  expanse  of 
heaih,  all  beyond  being  wrapped  in  mi-t  that 
looked  as  tuoiigh  it  would  shortly  shroud 
the  whole  neigliborhood  in  darkness. 

At  this  the  thieves  turned  into  another 
bye-path,  two  of  their  company,  as  before, 
ridmg  tiie  tired  steeds  of  their  disconsolate 
captives,  and  the  others  kee|)ing  close  to 
their  elbows.  Having  proceeded  thus,  nigh 
upon  a  quarter  of  a  mile  without  sight  or 
sound,  beyond  what  hath  already  been  des- 
cribed, Sauon  Stocklish  was  startled  by  the 
sudden  rising  from  the  ground  close  behind 
him,  where  lie  had  hitherto  lain  concealed 
in  the  chick  fern  that  grew  there,  a  boy,  who 
appeared  scarcely  to  have  reached  his  tenth 
year.  His  visage  was  exceeding  dusky, 
with  piercing  black  eyes,  and  having  an 
abundance  of  dark  hair  hanging  confusedly 


88 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


about  Iiis  nock  and  sloulclers.  His  feet  and 
legs  Wc'ie  bare, his  lie;id  witliout  covering  ol 
any  suit,  and  such  pitiful  nijrs  as  lie  had  on 
couLl  O.irely  be  called  garments. 

Saying  soniething-  which  was  very  He- 
brew Lo  t:ie  captives,  but  was  answered  in 
a  like  jargon  by  one  ol' their  dishonest  coiii- 
panious,  the  child  instantly  made  a  loud 
noisj  so  like  the  barking  of  a  sliepherd's 
dog,  tliut  the  young  student  of  meGit\,. 
iiiicigiiKd  some  aniuial  of  the  sort  was  at 
his  iic^l.-i.  He  had  not  done  this  a  minute 
when  a  like  cry  was  heard  at  a  distance — 
the  boy  tueii  dropped  at  his  length  into  the 
fern  as  ijuickly  as  he  had  risen  Irom  it,  and 
the  rest  proceeded  along  a  path  scarcely 
visible,  iiiey  met  with  no  one,  and  little 
hkelihuoJ  was  there,  as  it  seemed  to  the 
poor  uistivssL^d  prisoners,  of  such  meeting  ; 
wueii,  as  tiiey  came  under  an  ancient  tree 
whereof  a  few  branches  bore  leaves  its 
witiijied  stjin  gave  no  sign  of,  a  shaggy 
grey  head  and  grizzly  beard  were  thrust 
out  of  tiie  roUen  trunk,  and  the  leader  of 
the  pally  was  addressed  in  tiie  same  strange 
language  that  Simon  Stocktish  and  his 
young  mj.sLt;r  had  so  recently  heard. 

Soiii-j  conversation  followed  betwixt  the 
conicdeT.itJs,  whereupon  the  person  in  the 
lioiicv  tree  loo.i  to  hooting  like  an  owl, 
which  he  did  so  to  the  life,  any  one  might 
have  believed  an  owl  was  close  at  hand. 
"J'ne  sound  njid  haruly  been  uttered,  when  it 
Was  replied  to  as  t.iough  a  siuiilar  bird 
was  not  far  oiF,  and  then,  with  a  few  unin- 
tehi^ib.e  wortls,  which  doubtless  comprised 
6omj  direction,  tlie  grizzly  head  and  beard 
were  wiuiurawn  into  the  tree,  and  once 
more  the  parry  proceeded. 

They  went  not  a  hundred  yards  before 
they  apijroached  a  deep  sand-pit,  concealed 
from  view  till  any  onj  came  close  upon  it, 
by  thick  brushwood  growing  all  around  the 
brink.  Tiie  leader  pushed  liis  way  through 
this,  by  a  track  it  looked  impossible  could 
be  discovered  by  any  who  knew  it  not. 
All  at  once  a  voice  demanded  something, 
and  so  Close  at  hand  was  it,  it  appeared  to 
come  fro.h  auiongst  them,  yet  was  no  one 
visible,  notwithstanding  both  the  captives 
glinced  in  all  directions.  A  reply  was  given 
by  iha  one  Wuo  had  actud  as  leader,  and 
shortly  aller  John  Hail  and  his  serving-man 
found  themselves  descending  a  narrow  zig- 
zag path  of  great  steepness.  The  barking 
of  dogs  below  bacame  now  audible  even  to 
the  deate.-.!,  of  the  party  ;  and  tli<n  the  deep 
voice  of  a  man  callingthem  roughly  to  hold 
their  peace. 

As  ill  7  got  lower  down,  they  might  have 
beheld  two    or   three  tents  of   soiled  and 


])atched  canvas,  rendered  almost  blark  by 
long  exposure  to  all  sorts  of  weathers.  Then 
in  one  place  there  was  peicej;tible  a  huge 
rire  ourning,  with  a  monsirous  kettle  over 
it,  and  several  figures  grouped  around ; 
further  oil"  a  large  mast'.ft-bitch  chained  to 
a  stake,  with  two  or  three  meaner  dogs  at 
large  close  by,  barking  with  all  their  luight, 
till  a  terrible  tall  iellow  left  the  tire,  and 
with  a  huge  wliip  belabored  them  so  heart- 
ily, it  stopped  their  tune  presently  ;  never- 
theless, as  the  strangers  approached,  they 
one  and  all  kept  ever  and  anon  -nappiiig, 
snarling  and  growling,  as  though,  us  ihey 
dared,  they  would  do  tliem  some  horrible 
mischief. 

Upon  reaching  level  ground,  the  thieves 
and  their  prisoners  were  welcomed  wilh  a 
rioloiis  chorus  of  shouts  and  acclamations, 
sundry  scurvy  jests  were  passed  and  an- 
swered, but  no  violence  was  offered  to  the 
captives  save  by  an  old  hag,  who  was  su- 
perintending the  cookery,  and  hit  Simon 
Stockhsh  a  smart  blow  over  his  pate  with  a 
wooden  ladle  slie  held  in  her  hand,  because 
he  replied  not  to  some  question  of  hers,  he 
could  not  understand  a  word  of,  the  which 
seemed  exquisite  pleasant  sport  to  divers  of 
her  associat-s  of  both  sexes,  for  they  set  up 
a  loud  laugh.  The  claumr  tliey  made 
suddenly  brought  out  of  the  betterinost  of 
the  tents  a  person  who  had  evidently  some 
authority  over  tiieni,  for,  as  soon  as  they 
heard  his  voice,  as  it  appeared  abusing 
ihein  for  creadng  of  such  a  uin,  they  at  cnje 
became  as  dumb  as  fishes,  and  slunk  out  of 
the  way  as  quietly  as  they  could. 

This  man  by  his  look  and  bearing  assum- 
ed to  be  of  a  superior  sort.  He  was  of  a 
dark  visage,  somewhat  of  the  Moorish  cast, 
with  beard  and  hair  of  a  deep  black,  and 
eyes  of  a  like  tint,  but  so  terribly  piercing, 
the  horriblest  swaggerer  that  ever  was  se.n 
inFinsbury  Fields  must  have  been  awed  by 
a  glance  of  them.  In  figure  he  was  as 
well  limbed  as  the  finest  gallant  at  Court, 
and  though  his  apparelling  was  nothing 
more  than  a  stout  suit  of  buckram,  it  sat 
on  him  better  than  did  the  prodigalest  show 
of  braveries  on  many  of  greater  state.  He 
looked  not  to  be  more  than  thirty  at  the 
most,  and  was  in  the  full  pride  of  vigorous 
manhood,  till,  stout  of  limb,  with  an  eye 
like  a  hawk,  and  the  tread  of  a  conqueror. 

Examining  the  strangers  with  a  search- 
ing glance,  as  he  ajiproached  them,  he 
sliarply  addressed  the  man  who  had  appear- 
ed the  leader  of  the  party  by  whom  they 
had  been  attacked.  The  answer  he  re- 
ceived seemed  only  to  set  him  on  a  severer 
scrutiny,  and  he  regarded  tiie  student  of  medi- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


39 


cine  for  a  few  moments  in,  silence.  His 
black  brows  at  first  were  knit  fiercely,  and 
his  swarthy  visage  wore  an  aspect  of  mis- 
trust and  disquietude ;  but  as  his  gaze 
rested  on  the  pale,  tiiouglitful  countenunce 
of  John  Hall,  his  look  grew  gradually  less 
threatetiing,  vintil  there  aj)peared  in  it  so 
much  ot  sympathy  as  would  have  given 
contiJcnce  to  the  youth  had  he  observed  it. 
This,  however,  he  could  not  have  done,  see- 
ing that,  with  a  sense  of  apprehension  his 
situation  gave  some  warrant  for,  as  soon  as 
he  belield  the  flashing  eyes  of  tiie  person  so 
intently  observing  him,  lie  tixed  his  own  on 
the  ground. 

The  other  then  turned  his  gloomy  visage 
towards  Simon  Stocklish,  but  the  honest 
serving-man  slirunk  not  from  his  tiery  gaze, 
as  his  master  had.  He  put  his  ordinary 
grave  f  ice  on  the  matter,  as  though  he  was 
as  much  at  home  under  such  sharp  glances 
as  under  the  mild  looks  of  the  studious 
youth  beside  him.  Nevertheless  was  his 
mind  exceedingly  busy. 

"  How  now,  knave  !"'  exclaimed  he  of  the 
dusky  visage,  hnding  the  man  kept  a  coun- 
tenance under  his  scrutiny,  as  if  it  was  iron 
or  stone,  and  took  not  his  eyes  oil"  for  a  sin- 
gle iiiomeut.  '•  ril  warrant  thou'lt  know  me 
again  after  this  long  perusal  of  me."  !ii- 
mon  still  steadily  gazed  on  the  terrible 
bright  eyes  before  him,  but  said  never  a 
word. 

'•Fool!"'  continued  the  man,  savagely 
enr^iged  as  much  at  Simon's  taciturnity  as 
at  his  iiiditi"ereiice  to  his  threatening  looks. 
"  Hast  never  a  tongue  in  thy  head  ?  Speak, 
fellow,  or  1 11  have  thy  coxcomb  mauled  in 
such  fishion  as  will  make  thee  have  cause 
to  hold  me  in  remembrance  thy  life  long.  ' 

"  What  dost  want  of  me  .'"  asked  the 
other,  in  a  quiet  tone  without  altering  his 
features  a  jot. 

"  Ifaitli,  not  much,  seeing  that  my  hawks 
have  left  not  a  feather  on  thee  woitli  pluck- 
ing," repl.ed  his  queslioner,  a  smile  passing 
over  his  comely  features.  "  I  merely  seek 
at  thy  hands  some  small  intelligence,  which 
thou  hadst  best  give,  and  give  quickly. 
Whence  coinest  thou,  and  where  art  going '?" 

Simon  Stocktish  paused  ere  he  answer- 
ed. He  thought  that  the  safety  of  his  be- 
loved master's  only  son  now  depended  on  his 
prudence,  and  was  determined  to  be  won- 
derfully cautious,  that  nolhing  he  said 
ghould  bring  the  youth  into  any  jeopardy 

'■  I  came  whence  I  was  sent,"  said  Simon, 
very  quietly,  "and  I  am  going  on  a  lawful 
journey." 

"  Why,  thou  peremptory  slave,  dost  dare 
give  such  words   to   me !"    exclaimed  the 


other,  his  dark  visage  instantly  becoming  a 
thousand  times  more  gloomy. 

It  was  evident  that  Si.uon's  notions  of 
jirudence  were  of  a  strange  sort.  However, 
he  now  thought  to  anger  a  man  in  whose 
power  his  young  master  was,  ought  to  bo 
avoided,  ami,  by  a  plan  that  looked  to  liiin 
wondrous  politic,  he  sought  to  put  himself 
on  better  terms  with  him. 

"  I  ask  not  thy  business,  and  see  not  why 
thou  shouldst  demand  mine,"  observed  the 
serving-man,  with  his  ordinary  gravity^ 
"  notwithstanding  there  be  divers  thy  very 
worshipful  good  friends,  to  wdiom  any  cer- 
tain intelligence  of  thee  would  be  right  wel- 
come, or  I  am  hugely  mistaken." 

"  Ha  !  dost  know  me,  fellow  ?" 

'•  Exceeding  well,"  answered  Simon,  dis- 
regarding the  angry  scowl  now  hxed  on 
him.  '■  'J"'hou  art  Black  Sampson,  king  of 
the  gipsies — at  least,  so  thou  wert  called  at 
the  'sizes,  where  1  saw  thee  tried  for  sheep- 
stealing — but  1  was  heartily  glad  atterwards 
when  1  heard,  by  the  Hue  and  Cry,  that 
thou  hadst  broke  prison  the  day  before  they 
were  to  have  hanged  thee." 

Simon  Stocktisli  was  not  a  whit  happier 
in  his  notions  of  what  was  poliiic,  than  ho 
found  he  had  been  in  his  ideas  of  prudence. 
'I'he  scowl  of  the  recognized  gipsy  grew 
every  moment  more  tureatemng,  anj  his 
eyes  Hashed  feari'ully,  when  he  heard  the 
ignominious  fate  alluded  to,  which  had  so 
neaily  overtaken  him.  Widi  a  horrible 
iiiijjrecation,  he  seized  the  astonished  ser- 
ving-man by  the  throat — and  it  looked  at 
tirsL  terribly  as  though  he  would  throttle  him, 
but  he  suddenly  gave  him  a  swing  that  sent 
him  forcibly  to  tlie  earth,  several  paces  dis- 
iant  from  where  he  had  stood,  and,  after 
shouting  in  a  savage  mood,  some  directions 
to  his  lawless  associates,  Black  Samjjson 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  presently  disappear- 
ed within  the  tent  whence  he  had  come. 

The  command  was  obeyed  almost  as  soorj 
as  uttered,  and  the  hapless  travellers  found 
themselves  rudely  seized,  and  their  hands 
lightly  bound  beinnd  them  by  a  group  of  the 
most  villanous,  hang-dug,  rascal  tiiieves  that 
could  be  met  witli  any  where.  Juhn  Hall 
uad  heard  all  that  had  passed,  but  was  so 
taken  by  suri)rise,  he  could  make  no  interfe- 
rence in  behalf  of  his  thoughtless  compan- 
i' n,  and  sutiered  himself  to  be  roughly 
handled  by  the  gipiies  without  either  comf 
plaint  or  resistance. 


40 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Why,  thou  simple  parish  ass,  thou,  didst  thou 
never  see  any  gipsies  .'  These  are  a  covey  oi 
gipsies,  and  the  bravest  new  covey  that  ever 
constable  flew  at. 

Ben  .To.vson. 

For,  when  Dame  Nature  first 

Had  fiaiudc  hir  heavenly  face. 
And  thoroughly  bedecked  it 

With  goodly  gleames  of  grace, 
It  lyked  her  so  well  ; 

Lo  here,  quod  she,  a  piece 
For  perfect  shape  that  passeth  all 

Apelles'  work  in  Greece. 

Gascoigne. 

The  two  sat  for  some  time  on  the  ground 
in  silence,  with  reflections  none  of  thj  plea- 
fiantest.  All  the  gang  appeared  to  liave  left 
them,  when  tliey  iiad  grown  tired  of  the 
pastime  they  had  found  in  tiieir  unresisting 
victim.^.  Jeers  unanswered,  and  ill-usage 
unresisted,  soon  becomes  sorry  sport :  and, 
after  the  roughest  of  their  company  had  put 
them  within  the  length  of  the  savage  nras- 
tifl-bitch,  sijing  of  certain  words  to  the 
brute — which  she  seemed  to  understand  on 
tiie  instant,  for  she  crouched  down  ami 
fixed  her  eyes  on  them,  as  though,  moved 
they  an  inch,  she  would  tear  thein  to  pieces 
— they  drew  off",  all  of  them  to  another  part 
of  the  pit. 

The  young  student,  by  degrees,  recovered 
from  the  amazement  and  fear  in  which  he 
liad  bjen  thrown,  and  began  to  consider  the 
perilous  situation  in  which  he  was  placed. 
He  had  ascertained  that  he  was  a  jjrisoner 
in  an  encampment  of  the  Rommanees,  or 
gipsies.  Of  their  leader  he  had  heard,  for 
his  name  was  the  terror  of  all  the  country 
round  for  twenty  miles.  He  was  called 
8ampson,  from  his  huge  strength,  and 
Black,  from  his  dark  visage;  and  i  his  name 
was  as  well  known  in  cottage  and  hall  as 
Guy  of  Warwick,  or  Robin  Hnod.  He  had 
the  subtlety  of  the  fo.x,  and  daring  of  the 
lion  ;  and  so  skilfully  did  he  commit  his  de- 
predations, that  nothing  could  be  traced  to 
him,  although  there  never  was  any  hesita- 
tion in  pronouncing  Ulack  Sampson  to  be 
tlie  malefactor. 

There  was  much  of  mystery  and  romance 
in  the  tales  that  were  circulated  over  thecoun- 
try  about  him,  which  his  handsome  features, 
noble  figure,  and  courteous  bearing  of  him- 
self, whenever  at  fairs  and  wakes  he  chose 
to  ming'e  with  the  villagers  and  townsfolks 
6uch  festivals  always  brought  together,  were 
cure  to  increase.  He  won  all  the  prizes 
at  cudgel-play,  wrestling,  and  all  country 
eports  whatever ;  and   he  had   ever   borne 


his  good  fortune  with  such  exceeding  good- 
humor,  it  seldom  gave  umbrage  to  any.  It 
so  chanced,  however,  that  his  ordinary  good 
fortune  once  forsook  him — not  in  games, 
tor  that  would  not  iiave  mattered  so  much, 
but  in  crime. 

There  was  a  shepherd  on  a  neighboring 
farm  named  VVattie  Elliott,  from  over  the 
border,  as  fine  a  I'ellow  of  his  inches  as  the 
race  of  Elliotts  ever  boasted  of.  He  had 
missed  one  of  his  flock.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed his  vigilance  and  care,  yet  it  was  barely 
a  week  when  he  missed  another. 

Wattie  had  many  reasons  for  wishing 
to  capture  the  depredator  of  his  master's 
flock.  His  own  honesty  might  be  suspect- 
ed, were  the  knave  allowed  to  escape  with 
his  booty  a  third  time.  He  was  as  certain 
Black  Sampson  was  the  thief  as  he  was  of 
his  own  existence,  and  his  inclination  to 
catch  him  was  wonderfully  sharpened  by 
the  recollection  of  the  broken  head  he  got 
of  him  at  the  last  cudgel-play.  Wattie  was 
a  shrewd  fellow,  and  feared  nothing  in 
human  shape,  and  he  had  a  son  now  close 
upon  manhood,  as  strong,  as  active,  as  sharp, 
and  as  bold  as  himself,  on  who-e  crown 
Black  Sampson  had  left  a  similar  token  of 
his  mastery  at  cudgelling. 

Th(!  fatlier  and  son  kept  watch  almost 
day  and  night,  and  put  in  practice  certain 
not.ible,  clever  schemes  for  the  detection  of 
the  sheepstealer ;  but  the  king  of  the  gipsies 
was  a  match  for  both  of  them  ;  and  tired,  as 
it  were,  of  their  useless  labors,  they  seemed 
all  at  once  to  slicken  in  their  vigilance. 
They  gave  out  t!iey  were  going  that  night 
to  the  next  town  to  bring  an  addition  to 
their  master's  Hocks  he  had  purchased  of  a 
farmer  there,  leaving  their  place  to  be  hlled 
by  a  lad,  whose  carelessness  was  well 
known,  and  were  seen  at  dusk  proceeding 
in  the  direction  they  had  stated. 

Two  hours  afterw  irds,  whilst  the  boy  was 
intently  amusing  himself  hunting  water-rats, 
a  man  was  stealthily  approaching  tiie  foliied 
flock.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  caution  he 
exhibited  as  he  crept  along  the  shadow  of 
the  hedges,  stopping  frequently  to  listen. 
Save  the  bleating  of  the  sheep,  he  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  barking  of  the  dog,  .set 
on  by  the  boy  to  catch  the  vermin,  and  his 
occasional  shouting — but  both  boy  and  dog 
were  completely  hid  from  view. 

After  awhile,  he  lightly  threw  himself 
over  the  gate,  and  di -covered  his  prey  in  the 
adjoining  field,  to  get  at  which  there  was 
but  one  way — by  leaping  the  only  part  of 
the  fence  that  was  not  impassable.  He 
was  the  best  leaper  in  the  whole  country 
round  ;  bitt  the  high  thick  hedge  and  deep 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


41 


ditch  that  surrounded  the  field,  except  in 
this  placo,  was  not  to  be  attempted. 

Before  leaping  it,  he  seemed  to  think  it 
necessary  to  examine  the  otlier  side,  and, 
by  great  dithculty,  attained  such  a  place  on 
tlie  bank,  tiiat  he  had  a  fidl  view  of  the 
place  where  he  must  alight,  and  the  sheep 
close  at  hand,  in  the  most  convenient  place 
po-sible  for  abstracting  one  without  attract- 
ing attention.  After,  as  it  seemed,  satisfy- 
ing his  extreme  caution,  he  wont  a  few 
paces  back,  took  a  quick  run,  and  sprung 
over  the  gap  without  touching  a  twig; 
neverth  d  :ss,  on  coming  to  the  ground,  the 
turf  broke  from  under  him,  and  he  found 
himself  in  a  pit  that  had  with  extreme  cun- 
ning bjen  prepared  by  the  viyilant  shepherds. 

"  Hurrah  !  VVe  lia'  gotten  liim  at  last !" 
shouted  (he  elder  Elliott,  springing  I'rom  his 
concealment  in  the  branches  of  a  pollird, 
close  on  the  spot,  at  the  same  moment  wiih 
his  equally  active  son;  and  then  both  flung 
themselves  upon  the  athletic  gipsy.  "Hold 
thee  grip,  lad!  Hold'n  last!  Body  and 
bones,  keep'n  under  thee  !" 

There  was  a  fearful  struggle.  The  gipsy 
was  taken  at  a  disadvantage  ;  but  never  was 
his  immense  strength  seen  so  palpably  as 
in  his  efforts  to  throw  otf  of  liim  his  two 
powerful  assailants.  They  held  him  as 
dogs  do  a  bull — the  liither  encouraging  his 
son,  and  the  son  putting  forth  all  his 
strength  to  assist  ids  parent.  A  few  impre- 
cations only  burst  from  the  detected  sheep- 
st^aler,  as  he  strove  with  the  force  of  a 
giant  to  free  hims  If  from  the  grasp  of  the 
shepherds.  Th?  perspiration  stood  in  big 
drops  on  his  dusky  forehead,  and  every  limb 
was  strained  till  the  desh  seemed  to  take  on 
itself  the  hardness  ot  iron. 

Young  VVattie  Elliott  appeared  to  dis- 
commode the  struggling  gipsy  tiie  most.  He 
had  obtained  a  powerful  hold,  in  which  he 
commanded  both  his  captive's  arms,  and  the 
tremendous  exertions  the  latter  made  to  roll 
over  him,  and  free  his  pinioned  limbs,  were 
bathed  by  the  young  man's  caution  and 
strength. 

"  ila  1  Sampson,  n:iy  mon,"  said  old 
Elliott,  •'  thou  art  in  the  grip  o'  the  Philie- 
tines,  and  if  thou  dost  ever  get  free,  except 
with  the  hangman's  help,  thou  mayst  split 
thy  wame  with  laughing  at  all  o'  the  name 
o'  Elliott." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  shouted  the  gipsy,  in  tones 
like  some  devil  incarnate,  as  the  scream  of 
death  from  the  youth,  who  had  held  him  so 
long  and  well,  mingled  with  it.  "  That 
laugh  thou  hast  now  heard  !''  He  had  at 
last,  by  one  desperate  effort,  disengaged  his 
right  arm  from  the  young  shepherd's  em- 


brace, and  in  the  ne.xt  moment  the  knife  the 
sheep-stealer  had  in  his  girdle  was  buried 
in  the  heart  of  his  brave  opiKniont. 

But  the  homicide  wns  not  free.  The 
hold  young  Elliott  had  had  o*"  the  gipsy  was 
still  unloosened,  and  all  in  vain  were  the 
tremendous  struggles  the  litter  made  to 
s!iake  it  off,  tiiat  he  nught  have  the  better 
chance  of  escaping  from  the  lather,  which 
he  doubted  not  he  could  now  easily  do.  Old 
Elliott,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  son's 
blood,  raised  a  piercing  cry  of  agony,  and 
sprung  upon  his  murderer  with  the  fury  of 
a  maniac. 

He  struck  at  him  with  his  clenched  fists, 
tore  his  hair,  dashed  his  head  against  the 
earth,  as  regardless  of  the  severe  wounds 
he  received  from  the  villain's  knife  as  though 
they  inconvenienced  him  not  at  all.  Per- 
haps, loss  of  blood  might  at  last  have  weak- 
ened his  efforts,  but  tlie  fearful  cry  he  had 
uttered  brought  to  his  asiistance  some  hinds 
who  were,  according  to  the  plan  he  had  de- 
vised for  the  capture  of  the  sheep-stealer, 
on  their  Wiiy  to  join  him,  and  the  murderous 
eff'^rte  of  black  Sampson  were  at  once  put 
a  stop  to  by  a  stunning  blow  on  the  head 
iroiU  the  heavy  staff  of  the  first  who  reached 
the  spot. 

The  living  Wattie  Elliott  was  with  great 
difficulty  drawn  from  the  unequal  conffict, 
and  he  had  hardly  been  placed  on  level 
ground  when  he  swooned  away  :  but  it  was 
a  still  greater  difficulty  to  move  the  dead 
Elliott,  whose  hold  was  as  a  vice.  The 
strength  of  all  there  could  not  unclasp  the 
embrace  of  the  corpse,  and  it  was  not  tij  they 
took  unusual  means  that  they  succeeded  in 
their  endeavors.  The  youth  had  done  his 
father's  bidding  in  a  terrible  carne.-t  fashion. 
He  had  held  so  fast,  Black  Sampson  could 
not  have  released  himselt  of  his  own  means 
had  he  strove  ever  so. 

The  gipsy  was  tried  for  the  murder,  not 
for  sheep-stealing,  as  Simon  Stockfish  had 
said — perchance  thinking  the  truth  might 
be  unpalatable — but,  as  the  serving  man 
had  rightly  declared,  had  escaped  from 
prison  the  day  preceding  that  appointed  for 
his  execution.  Wattie  Elliott  recovered  of 
his  wounds,  but  when  he  heard  the  mur- 
derer of  his  son  had  escaped,  he  swore  a 
deadly  oath  he  would  hunt  him  night  and 
day  until  he  had  had  his  heart's  blood. 

Black  Sampson,  previous  to  this,  had 
been,  as  hath  already  been  stated,  popular 
with  every  one  ;  but  now  he  dared  not  show 
his  face,  so  general  was  the  execration  in 
which  his  name  was  held.  In  truth,  he  had 
become  a  changed  man.  He  had  lost  his 
cheerful  humor,  that   had  made  hini  such 


42 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  company,  and  liad  jxrowii  gloomy, 
savage,  and  distrnsll'ul  of  all  around  liim. 
Ocf.asionilly,  to  those  lie  alTccted,  he  would 
appear  in  a  better  mood ;  but  he  was  ordi- 
narily sullen,  capricious,  and  given  to  tits  of 
ungovernable  j)assion. 

John  Hall  had  heard  what  hath  here  been 
stated,  and  k^-pt  ruiiiinatingon  these  matters 
without  drawing  from  them  anything  of 
pleasure  or  consolation.  Siinon  Stockfish 
had  heard  all  tliis  and  much  more  to  boot. 
The  gossip  of  the  whole  country  round, 
concerning  certain  marvellous  adventures 
of  tiiese  llommanees,  in  which  figured  a 
most  lovely  creature  of  that  strange  race, 
and  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  the  subject 
of  infinite  speculation  to  such  as  could  get 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  her.  Simon's 
thought?  were  busy  with  a  thousand  strange 
stories,  and  the  unpleasantness  they  created 
was  not  a  whit  lessened  by  the  beiiavior  of 
the  savage  brute  that  kept  guard  over  him 
and  his  young  master. 

There  seen.ed  such  a  fascination  in  the 
snake-like  eyes  of  the  mastitF-bitch,  that  he 
could  not  take  his  own  eyes  off  her.  To 
the  curious  spectator,  the  brute  might  have 
seemed  to  have  been  carved  out  of  the 
marble  stone,  so  motionless  did  she  stand  ; 
but  Simon  could  see  something  in  the 
steady  glare  of  her  organs  of  sight  he  felt 
assured  might  in  a  moment  prove — in  a 
manner  he  liked  not  at  all — that  not  only 
was  she  fiesh  and  blood,  but  those  she  kept 
watch  over  were  of  a  like  material.  In 
sober  truth,  Simon  was  horribly  afraid  the 
the  tierce-looking  animal  would  spring  on 
him  and  tear  him  to  pieces  ;  therefore,  for  a 
wonder,  his  thoughts  kept  no  longer  any 
accoant  of  his  young  master's  peril — his 
own  seeming  so  imnnnent  he  could  regard 
nothing  else. 

During  this  interval,  the  night  had  been 
gradually  closing  in,  and  the  only  light 
which  Illumined  tiie  scene  was  from  the 
huge  fire,  whore  stood  the  caldron  already 
alladjd  to.  This  was  at  some  distance  froui 
the  prisoners,  w'.io  migiit  have  considered 
themselves,  but  for  the  watchful  mastilf  so 
unpleasantly  close  to  them,  quite  unregarded 
by  the  gipsy  broUiorhood,  whom  they  could 
see  in  various  groups  ;  some  sitting,  some 
standing,  some  lying  their  lengths  on  the 
ground,  eating,  drinking,  playing  of  cards 
and  tric-trac,  but  all  taking  no  more  heed 
of  the.n  than  if  they  had  been  stocks  or 
stones.  Thoy  could  also  hear  the  murmur 
of  tlieir  conversation  one  with  anotlier,  now 
shouting,  anon  laughing,  with  presently  a 
silence  broken  only  by  one  a  whistling  a 


morrice,  or  some  other  murmuring  of  a  pas- 
sionate ballad. 

How  long  this  state  of  things  might  have 
remained,  God  only  knoweth  ;  but  to  the 
huge  comfort  of  Simon  Stockfish,  it  was 
suddenly  put  a  stop  to  by  the  re-appearance 
of  Black  Sampson,  wlio  strode  from  the 
tent,  now  wearing  a  slouched  hat,  and  car- 
rying in  his  hand  a  stout  cudgel,  and  made 
direct  to  his  [)risoners. 

"  1  am  sorry  yon  have  met  with  molesta- 
tion, young  sir,"  observed  he,  directing  of 
bis  speech  to  John  Hall,  with  a  courteous 
manner,  '•  but  my  rascals  are  rough  and 
rude,  and  are  like  enou::h  to  meddle  with 
other  folks'  goods  in  a  way  that,  I  am  will- 
ing to  believe,  is  none  of  the  ci vilest.  Per- 
chance, some  amends  may  be  made  for  the 
hindrance  you  have  experienced." 

Here  he  busied  himself  awhile  in  un- 
fastening the  chain  of  the  mastiff"  who  by 
many  canine  demonstrations  testified  her 
delight  at  her  master's  presence. 

"  1  would  be  right  glad,"  gravely  observed 
the  young  student,  '•  to  be  put  in  a  way 
for  the  pursuing  of  my  journey  to  London." 

"  Ah,  that  he  would,  worthy  Master 
Sampson  —  God  he  knows,"  exclaimed 
Simon  Stockfish.  His  fears  relieved  by  the 
attention  of  the  mastiff  being  drawn  off  him, 
his  thoughts  turned  at  once  to  a  considera- 
tion of  tlie  proper  means  to  be  ein])loyed  for 
the  liberation  of  his  young  master,  and  he 
thought  it  would  hi  admirable  policy  to  take 
advantage  of  Black  Sampson's  present 
amiable  mood. 

"  Hold  thy  malapert  tongue,  knave,  or  I'll 
give  thee  such  a  rubbing  down  wiih  this 
goodly  napkin,  as  shall  make  thee  inhnitely 
careful  to  avoid  such  napery  the  rest  of  thy 
days." 

This  ominous  speech  from  the  murderer 
of  Wattie  Elliott,  assi.sted  by  a  significant 
flourish  of  the  very  formidable  weapon  he 
had  in  his  hand,  and  a  men  icing  growl  from 
the  mastiff,  who  seemed  waiting  only  for  a 
signal  from  her  master  to  be  at  his  throat, 
made   Simon  Stocktish  quake  in  his   shoes. 

"  Nay,  I  meant  no  offence,  o"  my  life  !" 
cried  he,  in  as  humble  a  tone  as  he  could  put 
on,  "and,  for  mine  own  part,  I  am  satisfied 
you  are  of  no  such  crabbed  disposition  as  I 
have  been  told  you  are,  and  that  Wattie 
Elliott's  murd " 

A  heavy  blow  on  the  head  stopped  the 
incautious  serving  man's  speech,  and  laid 
him  at  his  length  at  the  feet  of  the  enraged 

"  'Sblood  !"  exclaimed  he,  looking  to  be 
in  a  monstrous  passion.  '•  Dost  think  1  will 
be  bearded  by  such  a  sorry  ass  as  thou  .'" 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


43 


Then,  turning  to  divers  of  his  company,  who 
were  appro  xciiing  the  spot,  attracted  doubt- 
less by  their  !eiJer's  violence,  he  shouted, 
"  Keep  me  these  hated  Eusne  in  close  prison 
till  I  return  ;  and,  mirk  me,  an  ihey  seek  lo 
escape,  cut  their  villanous  t.iroats."  A 
moaiont  after  he  had  unloosed  the  dog,  ana 
was  seen  with  her  rapidly  bounding  up  tiie 
path  that  led  out  of  the  pit. 

It  vvas  so.ne  time  before  Simon  Stockfish 
recovered  from  the  stunning  blow  lie  liad 
received,  and  then  he  found  niinself  stretch- 
ed on  his  back,  on  a  rude  sort  of  bed  made 
of  fern,  that  was  in  one  of  ttie  tents,  his 
head  bound  up,  and  his  arin  bandaged.  There 
was  a  dull,  aching  pain  in  his  head,  and  a 
strange  feeling  of  sickness,  but  this  vvas  ah 
the  inconvenience  he  experienced.  As  he 
opened  his  eyt'S,  they  fell  on  the  anxious 
countenance  of  his  young  master,  who  was 
standing  over  him  in  his  own  proper  gai- 
monts,  feeling  his  pulse.  The  oily  otner 
person  in  the  place  was  an  oid  crone,  who, 
by  tlie  lamp  she  carried  in  her  hand,  he 
could  observe  was  of  the  peculiar  dark  vi- 
sage of  the  wandering  people,  into  whose 
power  they  had  fallen,  and  was  dressed 
somewhat  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  tiiougii 
her  a,)pireiling  was  of  the  co  irse.st.  Sue, 
too,  was  regarding  hiiU  ;  and  with  an  ex- 
ceeding curiousness. 

"  I  doubt  not,  witli  my  teacliing,  thou 
wouldst  m  time  become  ask.lful  leecli,"  ob- 
served s!ie,  turning  to  John  H  ill,  on  noticing 
the  signs  of  recovery  in  liis  lellow-captive. 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  good  dame  !"  courteously 
replied  the  young  piiysician.  "  Tnou 
seeaiest  especial, y  well  ver.-ed  in  the  treat- 
ment of  green  wounds,  and  in  the  employ- 
ment of  simples  of  all  kinds." 

"  I  warrant  you,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
very  evident  satisfaction  in  herself,  "  and 
where  wouldst  seek  such  knowledge,  if  not 
from  ilujia,  the  mother  of  the  Rouimanees, 
to  whon  lor  three-score  years  the  heavenly 
influences  have  been  m.xde  more  famihar 
than  10  any  oJier  of  our  tribe,  since  we 
wandered  tVoai  the  sunny  clime  wherein,  as 
our  traditions  tell,  we  were  a  mighty  people. 
But  thou  hi,st  thyself  not  been  unattentive 
to  the  mirvuls  that  are  continually  around 
thee.  It  vvas  well  for  this  poor  Bujiio  thou 
wert  by,  or  the  stroke  of  our  chief  would 
have  spoiled  him  for  this  world.  As  the 
stars  may  witness  for  me,  though  I  have  had 
to  mend  much  of  his  marring,  1  have  not  bad 
one  instance  of  such  eminent  mischief  as 
this  looked  to  be." 

At  tills  moment,  a  gipsy  woman  hastily 
entered  the  tjnt,  looking  wondrously  dis- 
turbed, anJ,  after  some  few  v/ords  passed 


between  them  in  their  strange  language, 
she,  who  had  called  herself  Rujia,  placinor 
the  lamp  in  the  hand  of  the  young  student, 
and  bidding  him  give  the  wounded  man  a 
posset  she  had  just  before  made  tor  him, 
followed  the  one  who  had  summoned  her 
out  of  the  tent. 

Joan  Hail  quietly  put  in  practice  the  di- 
rections he  had  heard,  and  fcumon  Stockrish 
as  quietly  submitted  to  them  ;  but  the  one 
could  not  keep  Irom  reflecting  upon  tlie 
liuowledge  he  had  got  of  sunple  surgery 
liom  the  ancient  gipsy-woman's  discourse, 
ao  she  a,-sisted  him  in  dressing  the  wound  of 
liis  lucKless  attend  int ;  and  much  he  mar- 
velled tnat  neither  Hippocrates,  nor  (ralen, 
nor  iVlatnias  Carnax,  nor  Alexius  Pzedo- 
montanus,  nor  Canonherius,  nor,  in  short, 
any  writer  ot  his  acquaintance,  ancient  or 
uudern,  had  given  any  note  whatever  of 
such  tilings ;  vvmlst  the  other  marvefled  to 
liad  himself  in  that  strange  place,  and  to 
hear  tae  grave  discourse  that  had  just  pass- 
ed between  his  young  master  and  a  gipsy 
Ueldame.  Alter  mUuiging  in  all  manner  of 
inward  questioning  as  to  now  these  matters 
came  ahout,  lie  arrived  at  the  interesting 
discovery  that  he  had  got  his  head  broiie, 
for  not  being  suilicicntly  mindful  ot  his 
tongue,  just  as  tne  posset  began  to  iiave  its 
proper  ettect  upuii  liim,  and  thereupon  he 
lell  into  a  sounu  slvep. 

John  Had  sat  himself  down  on  a  stool 
that  was  there,  over-against  his  patient,  and 
was  deeply  intent  on  a  volume  oi  Aristotle 
he  had  long  been  in  the  iiabit  of  carrvinij 
about  wun  nun — it  was  so  especial  a  favo- 
rite— vviien  his  studies  were  suddenly  broken 
in  upon  by  his  being  seized  by  the  arm,  and 
urgently  aesired  to  go  on  the  instant,  with 
his  so  recent  instructress,  in  a  case  of  life  or 
deatn. 

The  book  of  the  young  physician  was  in 
his  pocket  in  a  moment,  and  he  in  readiness 
to  go  wiierever  he  might  be  wanted.  After 
certain  hasty  injunctions,  seemingly  of  a 
mysterious  i.aport.  which  did  not  in  any  way 
cniig'liten  iiiin  as  to  the  nature  of  the  case 
that  demanded  his  assist.mce  so  urgently,  his 
yUide  led  him  out  of  the  tent,  and  m  a  few 
minutes  he  found  himself  in  anotucr,  in  ail 
respects  a  direct  opposite  to  Lie  one  ne  had 
left. 

It  was  furnished  not  only  with  all  manner 
of  comforts,  but  tnere  was  in  it  even  an  air 
of  luxury,  that,  as  may  be  suj^posed,  surprised 
him  greatly.  There  was  a  iloor  of  boards, 
With  a  small  yet  rich  Turkey  carpet  in  the 
centre,  a  hand.-ome  bedstead  quaindy  carved, 
wun  chairs  of  a  like  pattern  covered  with 
velvet.     On  a  table   near  the   bed,  both  of 


44 


TIIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


which  had  the  goodliest  covers  eye  ever  be- 
held, were  a  silver  lamp  burniiiji,  of  very 
ancient  make,  as  was  al.-o  the  deep  dish  <ii 
tlie  same  met;ii  close  to  it  with  dried  fruit, 
anJ  t.ie  ria.-k  wiiicli  stooJ  by  a  tall  Vemtcan 
glass.  On  one  of  the  chairs  was  a  h.te,  and 
a  theorbo  siood  in  the  corner.  An  ewer 
and  basin  ol  aniiiiue  china,  with  sundry 
articles  fur  the  toil  t,  were  on  a  fiiither  table, 
having  on  it  the  whitest  of  napery ;  and  an 
empty  cradle,  with  fiuniture  of  a  like  white- 
ness, was  c.osj  against  it.  tSoine  i'ew  articles 
ol  wearing  apparel  were  scattered  here  and 
there,  aiul  on  a  large  oak  cliest  were  a  quar- 
ter statf  and  a  long  rapier. 

Bat  trie  object  on  which  John  Hall's  at- 
tention was  quickly  engrossed  was  a  very 
beauteous  and  very  young  creature,  seeming 
in  age  to  be  biit  a  ciiild.  Yet  it  was  evideiii 
Blie  was  a  mot  ler,  for  none  but  such  could 
exhibit  such  terrible  deep  gnel  over  ihe  babe 
she  held  cioie  pressed  to  her  breast,  ever 
and  anon  unclosing  of  her  arms  to  gaze  at 
the  pall.d  rigid  aspect  there  pre^eiiteU  tj  her, 
and  then,  Uit^ring  a  wild  cry  of  distress,  and 
pressing  tiie  senseless  infant  still  closer  tj 
her  biOtst,  frantically  paced  about,  making 
of  all  manner  of  moving  exel.imations. 

A  prolusion  of  daik  glossy  hair  fell  in 
disorder  about  iier  dusUy  necK  and  shouiders ; 
she  was  diverted  of  her  outer  garment,  and 
wore  but  a  sort  ol  ioosj  jacuet  an  J  peaicoat, 
whereof  the  only  tiling  worJiy  of  note  was 
that  tne  materials  were  e.xceedingly  nne  and 
white.  Vet  did  all  this  negligence  the 
greater  set  olf  the  perfect  loveiuieos  of  her 
countenance  and  persuii.  tier  full  darK 
eyes  Orim.uing  wuii  tenderness,  her  e.xqui- 
sile  rosy  moutli,  dehcate  pearly  teeth,,  her 
dainty  sma.l  hinds,  her  rounded  arms,  and 
tenUer  swelling  bosom,  were  all  apparent  to 
the  enamored  gaze  ;  added  to  this,  sue  shuw- 
ed  a  pair  ol  dusky  f^ei,  of  such  marvellous 
beauty,  ihe  sight  whereof  would  have  ravish- 
ed an  anchorue. 

Tne  young  physician  was  sufficiently 
amazed  at  what  he  saw.  He  gazed  curi- 
ously, anJ  with  no  slight  interest,  but  he 
would  have  done  tne  liKe  hail  this  exquisite 
object  been  ere  ted  of  marble  or  wood.  A 
few  words  from  Kujia  quickly  put  his  indii- 
ference  to  a  hard  trial,  for  scarce  had  they 
been  uttered,  when  the  young  beauty  sua- 
denly  rusiied  to  him,  knelt  at  his  feet,  and, 
in  the  absolutest  passion  of  tears  and  prayers, 
besought  ol  him  to  restore  to  her  the  babe. 

At  this  he  felt  wondrously  moved.  In- 
deed his  heart  beat  quicker,  and  a  moisture 
came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  he  was  so  confused 
by  the  suddenness  and  energy  of  tue  appeal, 
he  scarce   knew   what  he    would    be  at. 


Nevertheless,  he  presently  became  himself 
like  a  grave  and  careful  physician,  made 
certain  inquiries,  and  closely  ex.im.ncd  the 
state  of  his  little  patient.  As  the  mother 
leared  it  was  dead,  inhiute  was  the  conten- 
t  ition  of  her,  whi  n  he  pnaiounced  the  child 
to  be  in  a  tit  only  ;  and,  waen  he  bade  her 
to  be  of  good  cheer,  fur  he  would  recover  it 
presenile , he  had  such  prodigal  st(  re  u I  bless- 
ings, tlie  rememhniuce  of  them  bioughthim 
tcmloit  all  his  hie  a:ter. 

Thereupon  he  issued  his  orders  promptly, 
and  spoke  so  convincingly,  yet  so  modestly 
witliai,  his  directions  were  followed  without 
a  question  or  doubt,  and  the  still  senseless 
child  WdS  given  into  his  hands  by  the  young 
niotuer,  with  the  trust  of  her  entire  lieait, 
to  be  done  with  as  he  thought  proper.  !She 
watched  him,  however,  whh  an  earnest 
alteutiveness,  that  looked  as  though  her  own 
Lie  hung  on  the  issue,  and  when,  alter  the 
cnild  had  been  placed  in  a  vessel  of  hot 
water  fur  some  minutes,  he  feiched  his 
breath,  she  seemed  herself  to  breathe  for  the 
hrst  time. 

How  delightedly  she  beheld  the  color 
nturning  to  Uie  pale  lips,  and  aniaiation  to 
the  lixeu  eyes,  words  have  no  power  to  teil. 
Her  joy,  however,  at  last  became  so  exces- 
sive, luat  on  the  young  physician's  declaring 
ms  little  patient  to  be  fully  recovered,  she 
caught  hold  of  the  astonished  youih  by  the 
hand,  and  jjressed  it  to  her  heart ;  then  she 
fetched  from  olf  her  hnger  a  ring  of  curious 
worKin  iiibiiip,  w.th  a  tor  stone  set  therein, 
and  jjlaced  it  on  one  of  his,  with  wondrotia 
great  heaps  of  thanks  and  blessings,  and 
imally  she  snatched  her  child,  now  crying 
lustily  in  the  arms  of  Rujia,  who  was  intent 
on  dressing  it,  and,  after  a  prodigio.is  deal  of 
crying,  laughing,  and  caressing,  she  stilled 
its  cries  w.tn  that  sweet  nourishment,  which 
Nature,  out  of  her  very  inhnite  oounty, 
bestoweth  on  every  tender  mother. 

Whereupon  there  was  a  silence  of  some 
few  minutes.  Joiin  Hall  was  so  bevvildered, 
he  seemed  to  have  lo.^t  all  power  of  sp.'ech  ; 
Rujia  busied  herself  m  striving  to  put  the 
place  in  some  order,  mutter. ng  an  the  while  ; 
anJ  the  fond  young  mother  was  intuo  ha[)py 
a  mood  to  speak.  After  a  few  minutes  tno 
young  physician  became  aware  that  an  ani- 
mated conversation  was  going  on  betwhxt 
his  two  companions,  and,  although  he  under- 
stood never  a  word  that  was  said,  the  youth 
could  perceive  by  many  signs  that  he  was 
the  subject  ol  the.r  talk. 

Presently  he  was  courteously  asked  his 
name,  and  bid  to  show  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
whereupon  much  no.e  was  took  of  it  by  both 
women ;  the  younger  in  especial  tracing  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


45 


lines  upon  it  with  as  inucli  attentiveness  as 
concern. 

'•  Thy  pahn  t?lleth  but  a  sad  story,"  ob- 
perved  she.  "  Sore  trials  await  thee.  Thy 
heart  wiil  be  fiercely  w  rung ;  but.  take 
courage,  sweet  h?art ;  though  there  be  much 
deep  .sutf'Ting  denoted  in  these  lines,  tijere 
is  hap|'in>;s  in  an  ample  measure  at  the  end. 
Nevcrthfless,  be  assured,  whatever  ill  be- 
tide thee,  Xariqua  is  thy  fast  friend,  and 
with  all  her  heart  will  heljt  thee  at  tJjy  need. 
I  |;rytiice  take  my  best  wishes,  good  iVlast.-r 
Hal,  and  bj  not  overcast  when  thou  and 
mis  ry  b  come  bedfellows.  VVIien  tiiy  time 
comcth,  thy  good  foitune  will  be  so  great, 
all  thy  previous  sufil-ring  must  be  considered 
as  of  no  account." 

Before  ha  could  recover  from  his  surprise, 
the  oid  gipsy  woman  had  led  him  out  of  that 
tent  into  .hj  one  he  had  previously  quitted. 

Theie  he  found  Simon  .'Stockfish  just 
awaking  from  a  refreshing  sle.'p,  and  when 
Rujia  badj  them  make  iiaste  as  they  loved 
their  lives  and  liberties,  tiie  faithful  serving- 
man  sprang  from  his  couch,  p. it  on  his  own 
garments,  which,  like  his  master's,  had  been 
restor.'d,  and  declared  himself  ready  to  start 
that  moment.  He  had  experienced  such 
uncivil  trv:'atm?nt  since  he  had  fallen  into 
tlie  hands  ot  the  bold  outlaws,  that  he  was 
right  g  ad  to  take  advantage  of  any  oppor- 
tunity tiiat  offered  to  got  his  young  master 
away  from  such  rascally  compiny. 

Neither  was  John  Hall  loath  to  go. 
Nevertheless,  from  souie  strange  cause  or 
another,  he  felt  e.xcoednig  desirous  of  know- 
ing something  concerning  the  young  and 
beautiful  creature  with  whom  he  had  by 
such  singular  chance  become  acquainted. 
He  at  last  got  so  much  the  better  of  his 
natural  timidity  as  to  express  his  surprise, 
that  one  so  very  young  and  comely  should 
be  a  gipsy. 

It  would  doubtless  have  been  better  had 
he  held  his  peace,  for  it  brought  on  him  so 
fierce  a  torrent  of  abuse  from  the  old  hag, 
for  the  most  part  in  her  own  language,  and 
she  looked  so  savagely,  he  would  have  been 
right  glad  had  he  not  been  so  bold ;  but  when 
she  bade  them,  as  they  valued  their  wretched 
lives,  keep  close  on  her  footsteps,  for  she 
was  about  to  put  them  in  the  way  of  escape, 
adding  something  in  her  own  jargon  which, 
had  they  known  its  tendency,  they  would 
have  hesitated  trusting  themselves  with  her 
— they  gave  themselves,  without  a  word 
said,  entirely  to  her  guidance,  and  she  led 
them  quickly  yet  cautiously  from  the  tent, 
out  of  the  pit  by  a  path  different  from  the 
one  by  which  they  had  arrived.  They  saw 
not  a  creature  of  any  kind,  nor  heard  sign 


I  of  such,  till,  after  threading  a  very  narrow 
and  intricale  path,  they  came  to  a  green  hol- 
low, wherein,  to  the  inhnite  great  jov  of 
Simon  Stockrisli,they  beheld  tiieir  two  got)d- 
iy  steeds,  Dapj.le  and  Jack,  whose  loss  had 
added  marveflously  to  tlie  uneasiness  his 
master's  capture  had  created  in  Simon's 
maid. 

Their  somewhat  uncivil  guide  showed 
them  where  their  harness  and  other  property 
were  hid,  and  assitted  them  to  bridle  and 
saddle, — the  while  giving  tliein  directions 
as  to  the  road  they  were  to  pursue  ;  then, 
bidding  them  to  use  their  utmost  speed,  if 
they  wished  to  save  their  wortiilsss  lives, 
she  disappeared  behind  a  clumj)  of  brush- 
wood. Simon  Stockhsh  had  just  hnished 
fastening  the  belt  round  his  body  which  held 
fast  his  master's  stock  of  a])parel,  and  had 
got  one  foot  in  the  siirrup,  wlien,  hearing  a 
savage  gi'owl,  he  quickly  turned  round,  and 
tiiere,  but  a  few  yards  fioui  hiui,  looking  in 
the  moonlight  more  ferocious  than  ever,  he 
beheld  the  mastiff  bitch  that  had  so  lately 
put  him  in  such  imminent  bodiiy  fear. 

He  was  paralysed.  He  felt  sure  his  more 
brutal  master  could  not  be  far  off,  and  the 
fate  of  Wattie  Eil.ott  stared  Ihin  in  the  face 
in  all  its  horrors.  Uttering  two  or  three 
sharp  clear  barks  that  rung  on  his  ears  like 
a  death  knell,  the  dog  was  bounding  in  all 
its  savage  fury  towards  him,  when,  ere  half 
the  distance  was  pissed,  she  w.is  seen  to 
spring  in  the  air,  with  a  piercing  howl  of 
agony,  as  the  loud  report  from  an  arquebus 
close  at  Hand  burst  upon  tlie  ear,  and  slie 
fell  to  the  ground  horribly  mangled  and  dead 
as  a  stone. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  there  appeared 
at  the  opposite  sides  of  the  hoilow,  two  per- 
sons— one  was  quickly  recognized  by  the 
alarmed  travellers  as  tiieir  unpleasant  ac- 
quaintance. Black  Sampson, — who  no  soon- 
er caught  sight  of  the  man  over-again.^t  liim, 
than,  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden  panic,  he 
turned  quickly  round  and  ran  off  at  his 
utmost  speed ;  whereupon,  the  other  mut- 
tering distinctly  the  words,  "  Elood  for 
blood  I"  flourished  his  weapon  over  his  head, 
and  started  at  a  desperate  rate  in  pursuit. 

The  latter  was  Wattie  Elliott.  Neither 
the  young  physician  nor  his  companion  cared 
to  watch  tlie  result  of  the  race,  but  instantly 
sprung  into  their  saddles  ;  and  their  steeds, 
alarmed  at  the  report  of  the  piece,  put  them- 
selves to  their  swiftest  pace. 


46 


THE  SECRET  PASSION, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

If  your  worsliippe  %ouclisafe  to  enter  the 
Pchoole  (loorp,  and  wjilke  an  hour  or  twaine 
within  for  your  pleasure,  you  shall  see  what  I 
teache,  which  present  my  schoole.niy  cunning, 
and  niyscife  to  your  worthy  patronage. 

'J'UE  SCHOOLE  OF  AbUSE. 

The  pretended  Master  Dulcimer  was  re- 
joiciuji:,  as  such  noble  iiearts  only  can,  at  the 
siiccLVs  which  attended  his  cftbrts  to  secure 
tlie  heart's  wish  of  iiis  young  friend  and 
patron,  huvinij  just  witnessed  his  secret 
marriage  with  that  admirable  fair  young 
creature,  Mistress  Varnon.  He  had  also 
another  source  of  satisfaction,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  cfTjcting  the  liberation  of  his  friend 
Ben  Joiison,  who  had  been  put  in  prison  for 
the  death  ol  Gabriel  Spencer,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding intent  on  his  ordinary  duties  at  the 
playhouse  in  the  Blackfriars,  amusing  him- 
self monstrously  by  the  way  in  imagining 
the  distress  of  that  exceedingly  starched  and 
antiquated  damsel,  Aunt  Deborah,  on  dis- 
covering she  had  not  only  been  deprived  of 
her  beautif.d  kinswoman,  with  whom  sho 
liad  so  lona"  been  wont  to  play  the  terrible 
tyrant,  !)ut  had  lost  her  sworn  servant  also, 
wlio  h  id  obtained  entire  possession  of  her 
virgin  heart. 

Truly,  if  ever  man  looked  in  a  contented 
mood,  that  was  he,  and  it  shone  in  his  wor- 
sliipful  sweet  countenance  with  such  ex- 
ceeding brilliancy,  that  such  of  the  way- 
farers who  took  note  of  him  as  he  walked, 
who  knew  not  his  extreme  worthiness,  eith- 
er by  jiersonal  knowledge  or  general  repute, 
set  down  in  their  minds,  on  the  first  glance, 
he  must  needs  be  as  thoroughly  happy  as 
any  man  this  side  of  Heaven.  But  few  m^n 
of  his  day  were  better  known  both  amongst  the 
citizens  and  gallants  ;  and,  as  he  had  quitted 
his  disguise  of  the  master  of  music,  he  was 
recognized  as  he  passed  along  the  crowded 
streets  ;  and  the  courteous,  cheerful  manner 
in  which  he  doff.'d  his  beaver  to  simple  and 
gentle  ;  the  blushing  girl  and  the  wrinkled 
dame,  and  in  sooth  to  persons  of  all  condi- 
tions W'ho  looked  as  though  they  were  well 
pleased  at  the  sight  of  him,  assured  them 
of  his  infinite  happiness  and  contentation. 

Marvel  not.  gentle  reader,  they  were  in 
some  measure  deceived.  It  is  not  so  huge 
a  wonder  as  it  may  appear;  for  divers  in- 
stances have  occurred  where  the  face  hath 
been  dressed  in  smiles,  and  the  heart  in  sack- 
cloth and  ashes.  We  cannf)t  be  said  to  be 
masters  of  ourselves  when  we  are  not  mas- 
ters of  our  atf>'clions,  and  these  are  matters 
the  mastery  wliercof  the  wisest  men  have  not 


been  able  to  obtain.  There  hath  ])een  notable 
instances  of  minds  framed  inthe  bcstschoolof 
wisdom,  teeming  with  good  uiteiit,  and  full  of 
virtuous  rc.-olution,  that  by  a  combinalion 
of  ill  circums'ances  have  been  forced  into 
the  surrendering  of  their  natures  to  an  at- 
tachment winch  cannot  be  openly  encour- 
aged without  a  sensible  disrespect  of  the 
world  and  of  themselves.  Such  feelings, 
of  a  surety  are  not  to  be  justified,  are  not  to 
be  tolerated  ;  yet  do  they  come  about  in  such 
a  manner  as  often  to  make  such  as  have  the 
ill-ibrtune  to  entertain  them,  more  to  bo 
pitied  than  blamed.  Methinks  there  can 
scarce  be  any  object  more  worthy  of  coui- 
miserafion  than  a  noble  nature  enslaved  by 
an  unlawful  passion,  struggling  betwixt  the 
extraordinary  admirableness  of  the  far  crea- 
ture he  caimot  but  devote  iiimself  to  heart 
and  soul,  and  the  natural  self-condemnation 
which  he  must  feel  in  allowing  the  existence 
of  a  state  of  things  of  such  infinite  improlit- 
ableness  to  either  party. 

Whether  Mas'er  Shakspeare  had  got 
himself  entangled  in  this  hopeless  me.^h,  our 
ini'ormation  at  this  time  dotli  not  state.  It  is 
but  known  that  occasionally  he  was  given 
to  long  fits  of  perfect  abstraction,  when  his 
features  wore  a  sad  and  troubled  air ;  and 
he  would  act  as  though  he  were  br,t  an  ac- 
coiuitable  creature,  given  to  wild  fancies, 
and  exceeding  strange  resolves.  Anon  he 
would  burst  out  of  the  gloom  which  those 
humors  created,  and  exceed  all  warrantable 
grounds  in  lightness  of  behavior,  enrleavor- 
ing  to  excuse  his  late  sadness  by  athrming 
he  slept  ill  o'  nights,  and  was  tormented  by 
fearful  dreams. 

Of  a  surety  he  had  dreams,  and  they 
might  well  be  considered  by  him  of  a  fearful 
sort.  In  part,  they  were  the  dreams  of  his 
early  youth  ;  but  the  loving  faces  that  liaunt- 
ed  his  sleep  many  a  midsumuicr  day  by  the 
stream  side,  beneath  an  antique  tree,  or  on 
some  mossy  bank  retired  from  the  public  eye, 
though  they  wore  the  same  features  of  ever- 
lasting beauty,  possessed  an  expression  of 
the  very  deepest  sorrow  ;  the  exq'iisite  sweet 
harmonies  which  of  old  were  wont  to  intox- 
icate his  mind  with  unutterable  joy,  now,  by 
their  mournful  and  melancholy  cadences, 
filled  hiui  with  a  most  painful  sadness;  and 
instead  of  the  floral  treasures  which,  with 
every  cheerful  hue  and  pleasant  form.tiirew 
around  him  an  atmos|)hcre  of  light  and  ])er- 
fume,  he  beheld  nothing  but  rue  ;uid  ro.-^e- 
inary,  willow  and  cyjjress,  nightshade,  and 
the  like  sort  of  plants,  the  gloomy  posies  of 
death. 

When  he  woke,  it  was  with  an  apprehen- 
sion of  impending  evil  he  could  not  readily 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


47 


divest  himself  of;  yet,  not  caring  to  h^ 
thou;^ht  supsrstitious,  h?  would  strive  to 
CList  it  onr  by  giviiiTf  himself  up  to  tho  very 
willes!;  fliglits  of  an  untimeablj  S|iirit.  That 
he  hid  soin3  secret  source  of  huge  disqui- 
etu  lo,  a  shrewd  observer  might  have  pre- 
(\i  -Ae  I  fro.n  th3S3  premises  ;  alb3it,  his  b3ha- 
vior  was  ever  of  so  noble  a  sort  as  to  win 
th3  h3arts  of  all  aroun;!  him,  and  his  admira- 
bl3  cheerful  te.iiper  did  so  often  and  so 
pleasa  itly  mike  itself  manifest. 

Hovvever  this  may  have  been,  it  is  certain 
that  t'.ie  mood  in  which  Master  Shalcspeare 
went  0:1  his  way  to  the  playhouse,  after  a 
friendly  leave-taking  of  the  young  Lord 
Soutliampton  and  his  loving  bride,  was,  to 
all  app3arance,  as  contented  a  one  as  any 
hippy  man  ever  had.  After  sufficiently 
amusmg  of  himself  with  thinking  of  his 
antiqaited  mistress,  he  fell  into  a  train  of 
pleasant  anticipitions  of  the  prodigal  heaps 
of  hippiness  in  store  for  his  estimible  kind 
friend,  and  marvellous  was  the  contentation 
it  give  him.  Froai  this  he  presently  took 
to  considering  of  his  own  ati'iirs  ;  and,  in 
the  happy  humor  he  then  wa-,  it  was  in  no 
way  sirprising  his  thoughts  should  light 
up  >n  t'le  most  comfortable  part  of  theai — his 
swe  t  young  son. 

Hi  recalled  the  great  solace  and  pride  he 
hid  taken  in  the  handsome  boy  at  his  last 
visit,  what  rare  gratification  he  had  experi- 
enced in  noting  his  aptness  for  study,  his 
warm  affection iteness  and  well-disposed- 
ness  in  all  things ;  and,  after  he  had  suffi- 
cientlv  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  the  past, 
he  would  rind  for  himself  a  still  more  sunny 
future,  and  enjoy  its  glowing  horison  with 
more  intense  transports  than  he  had  yet 
known. 

It  so  chanced  that  as  he  was  proceeding 
thro  igh  Cheap,  nigh  unto  the  conduit,  quite 
regardless  of  every  one  thing  in  the  world, 
save  his  own  pleasant  thinking,  on  a  sudden 
his  waking  dream  was  broken  in  upon  by 
some  one  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  and  ac- 
costing him  in  a  Strang;,  wild,  and  contused 
manner.  Oa  turning  round,  he  beheld  a 
man  of  decent  apparelling,  for  all  it  seemed 
slovenly  put  on  and  travel-stained,  with  an 
aspect  which,  tliough  marked  in  strong  linos 
with  exhaustion  and  alarm,  bore  in  it  so 
much  of  native  benevolence,  that  the  wor- 
thiness of  the  owner  scarce  admitted  of  a 
doubt, 

"  Master  Bifield  !"  exclaimed  his  old  ac- 
quaintance, looking  on  him  with  a  famous 
surprise  and  pleasure,  "  O'  the  dickens,  what 
hath  brought  thy  reverence  in  this  ungodly 
place  ?"  And  thereupon  he  shook  hands 
with  him  very  heartily,  and  expressed,  in  his 


exqnisitest  manner,  his  gratification  at  the 
sight  of  him,  swearing  lie  should  have  no 
other  inn  than  his  own  dwelling,  in  the 
Clink  Liberty,  and  that  not  an  ordinary  in 
the  city  should  boast  of  having  entertained 
him,  for  he  would  share  with  none  living  so 
covetable  a  pleasure,  and  much  more  of  the 
same  courteous  sort,  seasoned  with  all  man- 
ner of  choice  jests  and  excellent  pleasant 
conceits  ;  the  priest  the  whilst  saying  never 
a  word  to  all  his  nuaiberless  questions  and 
courtesies,  for,  in  truth,  he  was  so  bewil- 
dered at  finding  him  in  so  happy  a  mood,  he 
knew  not  how  to  begin  the  task  he  had  set 
himself. 

"  And  how  goeth  on  the  schooling  ?"  cried 
he,  in  his  most  joyous  tone  ;  "  and,  more  es- 
pecially, how  goeth  on  the  scholar  ?''  The 
worthy  priest  winced  at  the  question,  and, 
in  huge  confusion  and  distress,  coin.nenced 
staminering  out  a   few  unintelligible  words. 

"  Heart  o'  me !"  exclaiaied  the  happy 
father,  slapping  his  companion  familiarly  on 
the  should 31-,  •' 'tis  the  old  story.  Himnet 
is  a  prodigy  and  a  phoenix,  and  proaiiseth  to 
be  wiser  than  Solomon,  and  wortlher  than 
the  best  saint  of  them  all.  Well,  if  it  must 
needs  be,  I  would  as  lief  see  him  a  bishop 
as  any  tiling.  He  shall  to  Oxford  anon, 
where  I  have  friends  willing  to  do  him  any 
service  in  getting  him  snug  quarters  with 
that  most  admirable,  bountiful  hostess — holy 
Mother  Church.  But,"  added  he,  '•  dost  not 
think  the  profession  of  arms  better  btcometh 
the  name  of  Shakspeare  than  that  of  a 
clerk  ?  His  ancestor  did  yeoman  service  at 
the  bloody  field  of  Bosworth :  if  Hamnet 
have  a  like  spirit,  which  I  doubt  not  at  all, 
I  see  nought  to  prevent  his  becoming  a 
captain.  Perchance,  if  he  be  one  of  a 
greatly  adventurous  disposition,  he  shall 
take  to  seeking  new  lands  in  the  far  ocean, 
and,  as  likely  as  n  it,  coaie  home  a  mighty 
admiral.  What  dost  think — eh,  man  ?  VVhy, 
thou  art  mute  as  a  fish  !" 

'•  Oh,  Master  Shakspeare !"  at  last  ex- 
claimed the  other,  in  accents  that  seemed 
to  come  from  the  uttermost  depths  of  his 
heart. 

"  Why,  how  now,  my  old  friend  !"  said  his 
friend.  "  Were  I  not  used  as  I  am  to  thy 
pale  visage,  I  would  swear  something  aileth 
thee.  O*  my  lif%  thou  lookest  as  melan- 
choly as  the  stuffed  owl  in  Sir  John  Clop- 
ton's  blue  parlor.  But  come  with  me  to  my 
lodging,  and  1  doubt  nut,  ere  we  have  emp- 
tied together  a  flask  of  my  choice  Cmary, 
I  will  hive  the  owl,  so  thoroughly  washed 
out  of  thee,  tliou  shalt  be  glad  to  forswear 
melancholy  ever  after."  Thereupon,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  seemed  intent  on  dragging 


43 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  vicar  by  the  arm,  tlio  which  seemed  only 
to  mal<e  liim  the  more  distressed. 

"  Nay,  worthy  sir,  excuse  me,  I  pray  yoii," 
repUed  Master  i3itioid.  "  I  have  other  biisi- 
nes.s.     I  am  in  no  iiiimor — I — I — " 

"A  fig  for  thy  innnor  !"  cried  his  com- 
panion, his  face  irradiated  with  the  spirit  of 
gooJ  fehowsliip,  as  lie  still  strove  to  pull  him 
along.  "If  I  cannot,  of  mine  own  accord, 
make  thy  humor  lit  the  cntertainirent,  the 
which  1  have  doivj  so  oft,  why  there  is  Will 
Ke.iipe,  again4  whom  the  most  unsocial  of 
humors  standeth  not  the  tit^ie  of  a  minute  ; 
and  Ned  Allen,  who  is  good  company  for 
my  Lord  Justice  and  I  know  not  how  many 
more  clioice  ones,  who  shall  be  as  familiar 
with  thee  as  sworn  gossips.  Prythee,  coaie 
at  once." 

"  J  would  to  God  there  were  no  reason  for 
my  denial  "  muttered  the  vicar,  in  increased 
tro.ible  of  mind. 

"  That  there  cannot  be,"  answered  his 
friend,  '"  for  thou  hast  no  unreasonable  scru- 
ples, and  thou  mayst  be  assured,  where  J 
lead  thee, there  shall  be  nothing  discreditable. 
Come,  I  am  in  haste  to  drink  ilamnet's 
h  akh,  which  I  kn;)W  tliou  wilt  pledge  as 
fervently  as  myself." 

"  Oh,  iMaster  Shakspeare  !"  exclaimed  the 
good  priest,  as  he,  in  a  sort  of  frenzy  of 
grief,  convidsively  seized  the  parent  ol  his 
beloved  scholar  by  the  hand,  and  pressed  it 
between  both  his  own.  "  1  pray  you  call  to 
your  aid  all  the  philosophy  and  patience  ne- 
cessary for  the  hearing  of  ill  tidings." 

"  Eh,  what  dost  say  '?"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare,  hurriedly.  '•  111  tidings  ?  thou 
canst  have  no  ill  tidings  for  me."' 

"  In  honest  truth,  they  are  the  worst  a 
loving  father  ever  heard." 

"  On  thy  life,  man,  speak,"  said  the  other, 
as  if  oppressed  with  some  desperate  fear. 
"  Keep  me  not  on  the  rack.  Surely,  nothing 
hath  happened  to  my  sweet  son  ?" 

"  There  hath,  indeed.  He  hath  been  ail- 
ing some  time,  and — it  wringeth  my  heart 
to  tell  it — I  saw  not  that  the  closeness  of 
his  pursuit  of  learning  was  secretly  under- 
mining his  health.  1  knew  not  that  every 
triumph  he  achieved  over  the  difficulties  of 
study  was  at  the  expense  of  his  precious 
life.  Perchance,  my  neglect  was  culpable. 
Believe  me  I  shall  never  cease  to  accuse 
myself  for  my  fatal  remissness  ;  but  had  I 
observed  an» thing  likely  to  excite  appre- 
hension, I  would  have  sacrificed  my  own 
worthless  life  a  thousand  times  rather  than 
any  harm  should  have  come  to  him.  Alack  ! 
alack!  he  was  heedless,  and  1  was  blind. 
He  having  missed  school  a  whole  day,  and 
hearing  he  was  sick,  I  lost  no  time  in  get- 


ting to  Shottery.  Oh,  worthy  sir,  T  saw  a 
terrible  moving  sight.  I  beheld  the  best, 
the  sweetest  scholar  master  ever  had, 
stretched  in  a  raging  fever,  with  a  strange 
and  unconnected  speech,  pale  as  a  corpse, 
and  wasted  to  an  anatomy.  I  got  me  a 
horse  as  soon  as  I  might,  to  bring  you  to 
him  ;  for  the  doctors  assured  me  he  had  not 
many  hours  to  live.  Master  Shakspeare, 
my  excellent  good  friend  !"  here  suddenly 
exclaimed  the  vicar,  in  a  monstrous  .state  of 
alarm,  "  I  pray  you  stare  not  so  wildly  at 
me  !  What  hath  so  blanched  your  cheeks 
and  lips  ?  Alack  !  alack  !  the  heavy  news 
hath  broken  his  noble  heart.  Help,  masters, 
help !  I  have  not  strength  to  save  him 
from  falling." 

Assistance  was  quickly  rendered,  but  it 
was  long  before  the  unhappy  father  recover- 
ed sufficiently  from  the  shock  to  be  sensible 
of  what  was  required  of  him  ;  but  when  he 
did,  he  lost  not  a  moment  of  time.  The 
swiftest  saddle  horses  were  instantly  sought 
for;  and,  accompanied  by  Master  liifield,  in 
as  hapless  a  mood  as  himself,  he  rode  day 
and  night  on  the  road  to  Stratford,  at  the 
top  of  their  speed. 

He  spoke  scarce  a  word  the  whole  way. 
His  faculties  seemed  to  be  stunned  by  the 
terrible  intelligence  he  had  heard,  and  he 
appeared  to  be  animated  but  by  one  wish — 
that  of  getting  to  Shottery  in  time  to  see  his 
son  before  he  died.  The  good  vicar  watch- 
ed liiin  anxiously ;  performing  all  friendly 
offices,  but  forbearing  from  speech,  seeing 
how  completely  his  humor  lay  towards 
si'ence. 

How  difierent  was  this  to  all  former  jour- 
neyings  of  his  to  the  fondly  cherished 
scenes  of  his  early  griefs  and  pleasures  I 
There  was  scarce  any  noticeable  part  of 
this  oft-traversed  road  that  could  not  have 
called  up  whole  hosts  of  pleasant  remem- 
brances, and  many  a  fellow-traveller  had  he 
entertained  with  admirable  choice  stories,  of 
strange  adventures  he  had  had,  or  curious 
scenes  he  had  witnessed  in  those  parts  in 
former  times.  Not  a  village  but  had  its 
narrative,  and  hardly  an  inn  of  any  re- 
pute, all  along  the  road,  but  was  made 
to  furnish  most  excellent  entertainment; 
and  his  fortunate  companion  at  last  could 
not  help  fancying  he  had  either  fallen  in 
with  a  second  Boccaccio,  or  a  twin  brother 
of  that  exhaustless  teller  of  stories,  whose 
invention  supplied  continuous  amusement 
for  a  thousand  and  one  nights 

The  case  was  now  altered  with  a  ven- 
geance. Master  Shakspeare  was  company 
for  no  one,  not  even  for  himself;  and  he 
passed  by  every  famihar  place  as  though  he 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


49 


were  in  a  strange  land,  that  had  not  \}\  it  a 
feature  worthy  of  remark. 

But  though  he  was  so  scant  of  speech,  is 
it  to  be  presumed  he  had  a  similar  lack  of 
thouglit?  Perchance,  and  like  enough,  his 
mind  was  monstrous  busy  with  all  manner 
of  miserable  reflections,  touching  the  la- 
mentable state  of  his  dear  son.  Tlie  most 
subduing  fears  miglit  have  got  possession  of 
him,  and  the  imminence  and  unexpectedness 
of  the  danger  have  given  to  such  fears  a 
profound  and  entire  sway.  Mayhap  he 
might  allow  himself  to  hope  things  were 
not  so  bad  as  they  were  represented,  and 
then,  as  in  the  usual  course,  small  hopes 
leading  to  large  ones,  his  thoughts  would 
presently  make  for  themselves  a  prospect  as 
fair  as  that  which  he  had  at  various  occa- 
sions so  fondly  regarded.  But  his  aspect 
was  not  one  that  hath  a  reasonable  fami- 
liarity with  agreeable  anticipations.  It  ex- 
pressed a  settled  grief,  such  as  cannot  hold 
any  acquaintance  with  con:?olation. 

It  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  his  watchful 
companion,  that  he  suffered  greatly  ;  and, 
desirous  of  shortening  the  sway  of  his  un- 
liappy  friend's  reflections  as  much  as  was 
possible,  he  made  most  strenuous  exertions 
to  bring  their  journey  to  a  quick  ending.  His 
endeavors  met  with  such  success,  that,  in  a 
space  which  then  appeared  incredible,  the 
exhausted  travellers  reached  tie  cottage  at 
Shottery. 

As  he  drew  near  the  object  of  his  deep 
love,  the  agitation  of  the  miserable  father 
became  so  great  that  it  was  with  much  ado 
the  worthy  priest  could  keep  him  in  any 
sort  of  governance  ;  and,  when  they  vv'ere 
on  the  threshold  of  the  sick  chamber,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  though  but  a  minute  since 
so  terribly  impatient,  feit  as  though  he  dared 
not  enter.  He  was  overpowered  with  his 
apprehensions.  A  sickness  of  the  soul 
smote  him  so  terribly,  the  strong  man  was 
subdued,  and  all  the  father  in  him  seemed  to 
lay  with  so  heavy  a  load  upon  his  heart,  he 
could  neither  breathe  nor  move. 

His  excellent  pious  friend  saw  in  how  sad 
a  taking  he  was,  and  administered  to  him 
such  ciieering  encouragement,  that,  in  a 
brief  space,  he  felt  sufficiently  invigorated 
to  proceed.  The  latch  was  raised,  and, 
like  one  embarking  on  a  perilous  venture, 
he  entered  the  chamber  of  his  sick  child. 
A  glance  at  that  wan  face  would  have  as- 
sured any  but  a  doting  parent  that  deatii 
had  there  set  his  seal,  and  was  nigh  at  hand, 
waiting  to  place  the  instrument  in  his 
greedy  coffers  :  but,  seeing  him  alive,  after 
such  dreadful  agony  of  fear  as  he  had  scarce 
a  moment  since  experienced,  appeared  to 


render  Master  Shakspeare  unconscious  of 
his  son's  imminent  danger  ;  and,  as  Ham- 
net,  immediately  his  father  approached,  re- 
cognised him  with  a  joyful  cry,  his  appre- 
hensions left  him,  he  dropped  down  beside 
the  bed,  took  the  outstretched  little  hand, 
and,  with  an  exhanstless  prodigality  of  fond 
exclamations,  covered  it  with  kisses,  whilst 
tears  of  exquisite  sweet  pleasure  rushed 
from  the  fountains  of  his  love,  and  did  freely 
force  their  way  over  his  manly  cheeks. 

The  poor  fond  father  was  for  awhile  left 
to  the  full  enjoyment  of  such  feelings,  and 
was  only  roused  from  them  by  noting  some- 
thing strange  pushing  against  him,  and  his 
hand  quickly  after  touched  by  something 
warm.  It  was  the  faithful  hound,  Talbot ; 
who,  seeing  his  master,  instead  of  the  rio- 
tous demonstrations  of  joy  with  wliich  he 
was  wont  to  greet  liim,  by  that  wondrous 
instinct  often  shown  by  these  sagacious 
brutes  on  like  occusions,  had  noiselessly 
moved  towards  him,  and  began  licking  of 
his  hand,  soon  after  which  he  showed  the 
same  affectionateness  to  the  hand  of  his  at- 
tjiched  playmate — the  whilst,  as  though  he 
knew  die  misfortune  that  was  impending, 
he  wore  the  pitifullest  look  eye  ever  saw — 
now  turning  it  towards  Master  Shakspeare, 
and  anon  towards  Hamnet. 

"Poor  Talbot!  Brave  Talbot !"  exclaim- 
ed his  master,  patting  liim  on  the  head — for, 
in  very  truth,  that  was  all  he  could  say  or 
do,  he  was  so  moved. 

"  Poor  Talbot !"  murmured  the  sick  child, 
the  only  words  he  had  uttered,  that  showed 
he  was  conscious  of  what  was  going  on 
around  him,  since  he  had  been  ill ;  and,  at 
hearing  which,  the  faithful  dog  seemed 
marvellously  disturbed,  for  he  whined  in  a 
low  voice,  once  more  licked  the  hands  of  the 
father  and  son,  and  then  proceeded  slowly 
to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  he  placed  him- 
self so  that  he  could  see  the  faces  he  had 
regarded  with  so  fixed  a  sorrow. 

Ever  since  his  playfellow  had  been  con- 
fined to  his  chamber,  Talbot  had  fixed  him- 
self in  that  place,  whence  neither  threats, 
not  caresses,  nor  temptations  of  any  sort, 
could  remove  him.  He  refused  his  food,  he 
took  no  notice  of  any  of  the  family,  or  of  the 
different  visiters  who  entered  and  went  out. 
His  eyes  were  upon  the  visage  of  his  fast 
friend  and  pleasant  associate  in  so  many 
rare  sports,  with  a  disturbed  and  anxious 
expression ;  and,  though  all  this  time  the 
sick  boy  had  taken  no  manner  of  notice  of 
his  devotion,  in  consequence  of  not  being 
sensible  of  his  presence,  he  continued  his 
vigilant  watching,  night  and  day,  as  though 


50 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


he  were  as  handsomely  rewarded  as  liis 
fidelity  had  so  often  been. 

After  this  long  disreoard  of  him,  it  may 
easily  be  imagined  with  what  feelings  he 
heard  himself  recognized  by  the  sick  boy, 
and  the  exceeding  comfort  with  which  he 
returned  to  his  jih\ce  of  watching :  never- 
theless, lliough  he  wore  for  a  moment  a 
look  of  infinite  contcntation,  as  he  continued 
to  gaze  upon  the  features  he  loved  so  well, 
whereon  the  animation  that  had  been  given 
to  them  by  the  entrance  of  Master  Shak- 
speare  was  rapidly  disa|)))earing,  and  they 
were  assuming  an  aspect  of  the  most  terri- 
ble sort,  it  was  easy  to  see  the  poor  brute 
was  getting  fearfully  anxious,  and  his  look, 
no  less  strongly  than  his  movements,  be- 
spoke the  greatness  of  his  distress. 

This  change  in  Hamnet  had  not  been  re- 
garded by  his  fond  parent ;  for  his  attention 
had  been  taken  off  his  son  by  his  weeping 
mother,  who,  with  a  total  abandonment  to 
sorrow,  had  thrown  herself  into  his  arms. 
Such  passionate  lamentations  broke  from 
her  as  soon  as  she  could  find  her  speech, 
that,  though  her  husband  strove  with  all  the 
affection  of  better  times  to  bring  her  to 
reason,  it  was  to  marvellous  Uttle  profit. 

To  .add  to  his  trouble,  at  this  trying  mo- 
ment, he  found  himself  in  a  like  manner 
called  upon  by  the  no  less  lively  sorrow  of 
a  fair  young  girl  who  was  with  her,  whom 
he  could  not  fail  of  recognizing  as  his 
daughter  Judith,  the  twin  sister  of  his  be- 
loved Hamnet.  He  pressed  both  of  them 
in  his  arms,  and  strove  to  console  them  with 
the  best  arguments  at  his  commandment. 

He  looked  about  him  as  though  he  missed 
some  one,  and  his  gaze  presently  lighted 
upon  the  lovely  countenance  and  graceful 
person  of  his  elder  daughter — the  same  who 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  courteous 
reader,  at  the  dwelling  of  her  kinsman,  little 
Tommy  Hart,  in  Stratford.  She  stood  at 
some  distance,  with  no  other  sign  of  grief 
in  her  than  a  most  anxious  countenance  ; 
regarding,  witli  deep  attention,  the  sallow 
visage  of  a  little  man  in  a  threadbare  suit 
—  no  other  than  the  Stratford  apothecary — 
who  was  in  another  part  of  the  chamber, 
conversing  with  Master  Bifield  ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  see,  from  the  effect  of  his  speech 
on  the  worthy  vicar,  that  what  he  heard 
troubled  him  exceedingly. 

Pothecary's  stuff  had  done  him  no  man- 
ner of  good,  and  though  he  was  nursed  by 
his  sister  Susanna  witii  untiring  love  and 
attention — his  mother  and  Judith  being  so 
over[)owered  with  their  fears  for  him,  as  to 
be  incapable  of  rendering  any  useful  assis- 
tance in  the  sick  chamber,  it  advantaged 


him  not,  at  all.  Susanna  appeared  the  least 
moved  at  her  brother's  illness  of  any  about 
him,  but,  young  as  she  was,  she  saw  the 
necessity  of  keeping  her  feelings  under 
control,  that  she  might  the  better  be  enabled 
to  tend  him  with  that  care  his  case  so  much 
required.  Therefore,  had  she  been  his  care- 
ful nurse,  never  leaving  the  chamber,  an 
never  closing  her  eyes,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment she  had  been  made  aware  of  the  dan- 
ger of  the  case. 

Hearing  her  name  called  by  her  father, 
she  hurried  to  receive  his  caresses,  and  re- 
turned them  with  a  most  devoted  heart, 
though  with  as  sorrowful  a  one  as  any  pre- 
sent. She  had  been  as  anxious  to  receive 
them  as  her  sister,  but  had  stood  aloof,  that 
her  brother  might  have  all  his  attention, 
knowing  how  much  he  needed  it.  She  now 
spoke  not  a  word  of  lamentation  ;  indeed, 
her  young  heart  was  too  full  for  speech  of 
any  sort,  but  her  straining  embrace  and 
tearful  gaze  touched  her  father  more  deeply 
than  did  the  noisy  grief  that  Juditii  and  her 
mother  continued.  This  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  observed  in  her  signs  of  a  truly 
feminine  nature — exceeding  delicacy,  the 
truest  aftectionateness,  and  the  noblest  self- 
denial — and  these  had  endeared  her  to  him 
exceedingly.  The  measure  of  her  own  af- 
fection for  her  father  was  of  the  prodigalest 
sort — the  remembrances  of  his  smiles  and 
commendations  feeding  her  love,  till  it  took 
on  it  a  strength  marvellous  at  her  early 
youth.  It  may,  therefore,  be  conceived 
with  what  absolute  affection  they  mingled 
their  caresses  at  a  time  so  trying. 

But  the  intense  gratification  Susanna  ex- 
perienced whilst  receiving  such  sweet  proof 
of  her  father's  love  for  her,  could  not  for  a 
moment  render  her  forgetful  of  her  beloved 
patient,  whose  features  now  getting  of  a 
deadly  paleness,  were  for  a  very  brief  sea- 
son enlivened  with  a  faint  smile,  as  he 
gazed  on  his  father  and  sister  ;  and  she  had 
just  succeeded  in  drawing  his  attention  to 
Hamnet,  when  the  eyes  of  the  sick  scholar 
turned  towards  his  revered  master,  who  at 
that  moment  was  directing  towards  him  a 
glance  of  the  terriblest  distress  and  anxiety, 
and  there  seemed  a  meaning  in  them,  which 
the  good  priest  quickly  interpreted,  and  as 
speedily  sought  to  act  upon. 

He  advanced  to  the  bed  with  a  solemn 
and  distressed  air,  and  knelt  beside  it.  At 
this  moment  it  was  that  Master  Shakspeare 
looked  again  upon  his  son,  and  the  terrible 
change  his  countenance  had  undergone  in 
the  last  few  minutes  his  attention  had  been 
taken  oft"  it,  seemed  to  pierce  his  soul  like  a 
barbed  arrow.     He  saw  now  he  must  hope 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


61 


no  more ;  and,  with  an  agony  that  appeared 
to  be  crushing  botli  heart  and  brain,  he  fell 
on  his  l<nees,  still  clasping  the  little  hand, 
that  all  this  fearful  time  had  rested  so 
quietly  in  his  own.  The  attention  of  the 
rest  of  the  family  was  by  this  movement  di- 
rected to  the  countenance  of  the  dying 
boy,  on  seeing  which  his  mother  covered 
her  face  with  her  apron,  and  sunk  in  a 
swoon  on  the  nearest  chair,  and  Judith  fell 
on  her  knees  before  her,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  lap. 

Susanna  had  softly  and  quickly  made  her 
way  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  where, 
kneeling  down,  with  the  remaining  hand  of 
her  beloved  brother  clasped  in  both  her  own, 
she  joined  fervently  in  the  fervent  prayer 
Master  Bifield  had  commenced.  How  mov- 
ing was  the  scene  the  chamber  of  the  sick 
scholar  then  presented  !  There  were  on 
two  or  three  shelves  he  had  himself  fixed  on 
the  panel,  the  books  he  had  conned  with  such 
loving,  yet  such  fatal  diligence.  It  was  as 
simple  a  chamber  as  scliolar  ever  had,  hav- 
ing nought  in  it  but  the  truckle-bed  whereon 
its  poor  occupant  then  lay,  a  small  table  at 
which  he  was  wont  to  write  and  study,  now 
having  on  it  in  divers  vessels  certain  medi- 
caments of  the  apothecary's  compounding, 
and  a  chair  whereon  the  child  sat  during 
his  long  studies. 

The  only  casement  it  had  looked  into 
the  orchard,  where  he  had  got  many  a  task 
by  heart,  poring  over  it  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  ;  and  the  door  opened  into  his  mother's 
chamber,  wherein  were  now  several  rela- 
tions and  friendly  acquaintances,  some  of 
whom  were  peering  in  with  grave  and  dis- 
tressed visages.  Hanging  upon  a  peg  was 
his  satchel,  and  nigh  it  the  gay  cap  and 
feather  his  fond  father  at  his  last  visit  had 
brought  him  for  holiday  wear.  The  rest  of 
his  apparelling  had  been  neatly  folded  up 
by  his  good  sister  Susanna,  and  put  away 
in  a  chest  that  stood  at  the  furthest  corner 
of  the  room,  from  which  the  apothecary  had 
gone  to  take  his  hat  and  stick,  seeing  the 
case  of  his  patient  was  now  beyond  all  re- 
medy, but,  on  hearing  the  solemn  words  of 
Master  Bitield,  he  reverently  bent  his  knees, 
and  stayed  where  he  was. 

The  countenance  of  that  excellent  good 
man  was  elevated,  and  bore  the  expression 
of  a  martyr  passing  from  life  to  immortality, 
with  a  joyful  hope  that  holdeth  pain  at  de- 
fiance. The  light  fell  full  upon  it,  and  the 
ravages  that  disease  and  care  had  made 
there  were  painfully  visible.  Yet,  as  with 
clasped  hands  and  uplifted  eyes,  he  implor- 
ed the  Divine  custody  for  the  spirit  that  was 
about  to  pass  away,  his  passionate  moving 


eloquence  appeared  so  to  excite  him,  that 
to  those  who  beheld  him  from  the  next 
chamber,  he  seemed  to  possess  a  greater  de- 
gree of  strength  than  they  had  seen  in  him 
for  many  years  past. 

Then  with  a  still  greater  heartiness  he 
prayed  for  forgiveness  for  the  great  sin  he 
had  committed  by  his  negligence,  and  broke 
out  in  a  confused  passion  of  grief  and  self- 
condemnation,  whereof  the  burthen  was,  he 
had  sacrificed  the  sweetest  excellent  scholar 
master  ever  had,  and  thereupon  the  tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks — the  pitifuUest  sight 
eyes  ever  looked  on — and,  lastly,  he  finish- 
ed his  discourse  with  a  like  urgent  appeal 
as  that  witli  which  he  had  commenced  it, 
dilating  on  the  child's  worthiness  of  Heaven, 
with  such  a  power  of  language,  that  at  last 
it  became  evident  his  feelings  were  over- 
powering him.  He  could  only  at  intervals, 
and  with  a  sort  of  frenzied  earnestness,  ut- 
ter a  few  words  of  loving  praise,  which  be- 
came fainter  and  fainter,  till  at  last  his 
head  sunk  on  his  hands,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  continuing  the  prayer  in  silence,  too  ex- 
hausted for  further  speech. 

There  had  been  no  other  sounds  during 
this  discourse,  but  the  sobbing  of  some  of 
the  women,  and  the  laborious  breathing  of 
the  sick  boy.  His  look  had  been  cast  up- 
ward from  the  first  moment  Master  Bifield's 
voice  became  audible  ;  as  it  grew  interrupt- 
ed, the  breathing  grew  less  distinct,  and  as 
the  former  ceased,  there  was  heard  in  the 
deep  silence  that  then  reigned  throughout 
the  cliamber,  the  horri blest  of  all  sounds,  the 
death-rattle.  Master  Shakspeare  uttered  a 
cry  of  agony,  and  took  to  be  so  frantic, 
three  strong  men  were  necessary  to  tear  him 
from  the  cliamber,  and  at  the  same  instant, 
the  faithful  Talbot  set  up  a  long  and  pier- 
cing howl,  which  never  left  the  remem- 
brance of  those  who  heard  it. 

Yet  the  saddest  thing  of  all  remains  to  be 
told.  After  the  chamber  had  been  cleared 
of  the  atflicted  relatives,  Master  Bifield  still 
remained  in  silent  devotion,  which,  as  might 
be  supposed,  none  liked  to  disturb.  At  last 
the  apothecary  said  something  to  one  of 
Master  Shakspeare's  friends  who  was  pre- 
sent. On  this  hint  they  both  approached  to 
where  he  knelt,  and,  not  receiving  any  an- 
swer to  certain  words  with  which  they  ad- 
dressed him,  they  each  took  him  by  the  arm, 
and  hold  back  his  head. 

A  long  and  wasting  illness,  followed  by 
several  days'  violent  exertion  to  both  mind 
and  body,  had  brought  him  to  so  low  a  state 
that  the  suffering  and  labor  he  had  put  him- 
self to  during  those  last  few  moments,  had 
sufficed  for  the  utter  extinction  of  his  feeble 


62 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


life  ;  and,  as  it  looked  to  those  who  witness- 
ed, tlie  master  so  Iionorcd,  and  the  scholar 
so  doted  on,  concluded  tlieir  iovinof  studies 
by  taking  their  wa}-  lo  heaven  hand  in  iiand. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

We  present  men  with  the  ughness  of  their 
vices  to  make  them  the  more  to  abhore  them  ; 
as  the  Persians  use,  who,  above  all  sinnes  loath- 
ing drunkennesse,  accustomed  in  their  solemne 
feasts  to  mnke  their  servants  and  captives  ex- 
tremely overcome  with  wines,  and  then  call 
their  children  to  view  their  nasty  and  loathsome 
behaviour,  making  ihem  hate  that  sinne  in 
themselves,  which  shesved  so  grosse  and  abho- 
minable  in  others. 

An  Apology  for  Actors. 


don,  which  place,  it  was  like  enough,  they 
intended  surprising  ;  whereof,  the  conse- 
quence was,  a  hue  and  cry  was  ])resently 
despatched  to  the  Privy  Council,  describing 
the  appearance  of  tlie  enemy  in  the  most 
imposing  array,  and  messengers  sent  to 
alarm  the  district  for  miles  round,  and  take 
measures  for  its  defence. 

Perfectly  unconscious  of  the  sensation 
they  were  creating,  the  travellers  continued 
their  course  ;  tlieir  desire  to  place  them- 
selves out  of  the  reach  of  Black  Sampson 
occupying  their  thoughts,  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  things  whatsoever ;  and  they 
did  not  begin  to  feel  secure  till,  just  as  the 
day  began  to  break,  they  rode  into  the  yard 
of  "  The  Golden  Dragon,"  at  Uxbridge. 

A  lame  ostler  was  perceived,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  lantern  which  he  carried, 
grooming  a  horse.  A  heavily-laden  waggon 
stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  yard,  and  divers 
goodly  packages,  with  pack-saddles,  and 
Doubtless  the 


Whether  D.tpple  and  Jack  liked  as  lit 
tie  the  neighborhood  of  the  gipsy  encamp' 

ment  as  their  riders,  there  is  no  knowing  other  stable-gear,  lay  about, 
for  a  certainty  ;  but,  judging  by  the  unac-  whole  inn  was  in  as  peaceable  a  state  as 
customed  pace  at  which  these  two  goodly  ever  inn  was  a  minute  since ;  but,  directly 
steeds  went,  and  the  extraordinary  long  :  Dapple  and  Jack  rushed  clattering  over  the 
time  they  continued  it,  there  seemeth  some  :  stones,  all  show  of  quiet  was  at  an  end.  _ 
grounds  for  so  thinking.  It  may  readily  be  |  Half  a  dozen  carriers' dogs  began  bark- 
imagined  no  effort  was  made  to  check  their  ;  ing  and  yelping,  as  though  trying  against 
fleetness.  In  sooth,  if  ever  horse  and  man  i  each  other  the  fierceness  of  their  noise,  and, 
were  of  one  mind,  the  old  grey  and  the  ;  presently  after,  out  rushed  their  several 
youthful  physician  were,  out  of  all  doubt, :  masters  at  ditferent  doors,  each  with  a  lan- 
and  in  this  agreement  of  opinion  they  were  '  tern  and  a  heavy  cudgel,  fearing  nothing 


closely  copied  by  the  stalwart  serving-man 
and  his  rough,  heavy-heeled  colt. 

They  made  so  huge  a  clatter  in  the  dead 
of  the  night,  as  to  cause  infinite  alarm  to 
some  of  the  rustical  sort  of  people  whose 
habitations  they  passed  by,  divers  of  whom 
fell  readily  into  the  conceit  that  it  could  be 
no  other  than  an  army  of  bloodthirsty  Spa- 
niards intent  on  ravaging  the  whole  king- 
dom. Others  took  it  to  be  a  rising  of  the 
Papists  for  the  cutting  of  Protestant  throats. 
A  few  were  no  less  certain  that  it  was  no 
other  than  an  army  of  thieving  Scots ; 
whilst  certain,  who  affected  a  greater  wis- 
dom, put  it  down  to  witchcraft,  and  shook 
in  their  beds  for  an  hour  after. 

Whilst  passing  through  one  straggling 
hamlet,  an  alarm-bell  was  rung  by  the  sex- 
ton, who  happened  to  be  returning  from  a 
roaring  carouse  with  the  parish  clerk,  at 
the  neighboring  sign  of  "  The  Foaming 
Tankard ;"  and  these  worthies  took  their 
oaths  on  it,  a  few  hours  after,  before  the 
borough  reeve  and  his  equally  frightened 
partners  in  authority,  that  they  had  witness- 
ed a  ho.st  of  liorsemen,  nigh  upon  a  thou- 
sand or  two,  dashing  along  with  full  speed, 
armed  to  the  teelh,  on  the  highroad  to  Lon- 


less  than  that  their  bales  were  being  rifled. 
The  shouting  and  uproar  they  made  had  the 
effect  of  bringing  into  the  gallery  which 
went  round  the  yard,  and  at  every  one  of 
the  doors  and  casements,  mine  host  and 
hostess,  with  all  their  guests  and  servants, 
with  spits,  guns,  rapiers,  and  various  other 
deadly  arms — some  but  half-dressed,  and 
others  with  nought  on  but  what  they  were 
sleeping  in — here  and  there  one  carrying  a 
light,  believing  they  were  about  to  be  robbed 
and  murdered  at  the  least.  But,  when  the 
carriers  held  up  their  lanterns  to  the  intru- 
ders, who  were  as  mucli  astonished  at  the 
strangeness  of  their  reception  as  were  the 
people  of  the  inn  alarmed  by  their  sudden 
appearance,  and  saw  in  what  peaceable 
guise  they  came,  and,  moreover,  when  they 
heard  the  chorus  of  loud  laughter,  and  the 
various  rude  jests  which' came  from  the  car- 
riers, as  they  observed  the  goodly  speci- 
mens of  horseflesh  on  which  the  travellers 
were  mounted,  they  presently  returned  to 
their  beds,  assured  of  the  safety  both  of  their 
purses  and  tlieir  lives. 

Simon  Stockfish  was  by  no  means  of  a 
quarrelsome  liumor — perchance  the  perils 
his  young  master  had  already  escaped  im- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


63 


pressed  the  more  deeply  on  his  mind  the  ne- 
cessity of  keeping-  out  of  broils — so  that, 
whilst  John  Hall,  under  the  guidance  of 
mine  host,  went  his  way  into  a  comfortable 
chamber,  the  careful  serviny-man,  unheed- 
ing the  taunts  that  were  levelled  at  his 
skill  in  horseflesh,  proceeded  to  get  his 
beasts  the  nourishment  and  repose  they 
needed  equally  witii  their  riders. 

The  young  physician  soon  found  himself 
discussing  a  pleasant  meal,  and  relating  to 
a  circle  ol  marvelling  listeners  of  both  sexes 
the  strange  adventure  that  had  befallen  him 
with  the  king  of  the  gipsies.  Thereupon 
arose  amongst  them  much  curious  talk  re- 
lating to  Black  Sampson  and  his  comely 
leman  ;  and  many  marvellous  things  were 
said  of  both,  and  the  outlaws  also,  which 
greatly  increased  the  astonish.ment  Master 
Hall  had  experienced  from  the  knowledge 
of  them  he  had  himself  with  so  much  peril 
obtained. 

In  the  end,  a  soldier-sort  of  man,  who  had 
a  patch  over  one  eye,  and  a  complexion  like 
unto  the  bark  of  a  tree,  and  whose  pate  was  as 
bald  as  though  it  liad  just  been  cleanly  shaved, 
though  his  grey  beard  was  as  ample  as 
need  be,  promised  the  youtliful  traveller  his 
protection  on  the  remainder  of  his  road, 
vowing,  fore  gad,  he  would  make  any  vil- 
lanous  Rommanee  meat  lor  dogs,  who  should 
venture  to  touch  a  hair  of  his  head  whilst  in 
his  company.  This  being  said  with  a  terri- 
ble tierce  air,  and  a  blow  on  the  hilt  of  his 
rapier  that  sent  the  blade  into  the  scabbard 
with  a  great  noise,  as  the  captain  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  marched  with  imposing  strides 
to  his  own  chamber,  was  not  without  its  due 
effect.  Although  this  personage  was  a 
stranger  to  the  travellers,  he  was  none  to 
the  reader. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Simon  Stockfish  was 
doing  his  best  for  the  comfort  and  conveni- 
ency  of  Dapple  and  Jack,  apparently  pru- 
dently heedless  of  the  sauciness  of  his  rude 
associates.  It  may  here  be  remembered 
that  his  having  had  his  crown  so  recently 
cracked  by  his  endeavoring  to  show  his  no- 
tions of  what  was  most  prudent  and  politic, 
had  a  wonderful  influence  towards  shaking 
his  opinion  of  the  excellence  of  such 
notions,  to  say  nought  of  the  little  good 
they  had  done  the  object  for  whose  peculiar 
benefit  and  security  they  were  entertained  : 
therefore,  he  held  his  peace,  as  a  secure 
means  of  otfending  none,  and  in  no  slight 
degree  prided  himself  on  the  subtlety  of 
such  behavior. 

Alack-a-day  !  such  subtlety  appeared  to 
be  poorly  estimated  by  his  unmannerly 
companions,  who,  enraged    by   what  they 


called  his  sullen  humor,  at  hearing  of  their 
merry  jests  at  his  expense,  one  jostled  him, 
and  then  another  jostled  him,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment they  all  commenced  pushing  him  vio- 
lently from  one  to  another,  with  a  huge  up- 
roar of  sportive  shouts  and  cries,  till  there 
seemed  no  spot  where  he  could  be  allowed 
to  stand,  and  every  bone  in  his  body  was 
as  tender  as.  an  over-boiled  chicken.  Then 
a  tall  strap])ing  fellow  emptied  upon  him  a 
huge  bucket  of  water,  and,  after  fixing  the 
vessel  on  his  head,  the  carriers,  one  and  all, 
set  up  a  loud  horse-laugh,  and  led  their 
several  beasts,  as  quickly  as  they  might, 
out  of  the  inn-yard. 

Poor  Simon,  soaked  to  the  skin,  and  sore 
in  every  limb,  whilst  drying  of  his  garments 
at  the  kitchen-fire,  and  breaking  his  long 
fast  on  the  goodly  meal  provided  for  him, 
was  sadly  puzzled  at  the  difiiculty  he  found 
in  behaving  so  as  to  scape  harm,  and  was 
fast  inclining  to  the  conviction  that  he  was 
living  in  a  villanous  world,  where  no  honest 
serving-man  could  hope  to  exist  with  whole 
bones. 

As  the  valiant  personage  alluded  to  in  a 
preceding  page  intended  leaving  the  Golden 
Dragon  by  nine  of  the  clock  that  morning, 
that  he  might  be  in  the  good  city  of  London 
at  a  convenient  hour  of  the  same  day,  for 
the  transacting  of  a  certain  important  busi- 
ness, with  no  le.ss  a  person  than  the  Lord 
Mayor,  on  which  he  was  bound,  our  tired 
travellers  were  allowed  a  fair  rest ;  and 
whilst  one  is  sleeping  in  the  chamber  set 
apart  for  him,  and  the  other  is  obtaining  as 
sound  a  slumber  stretched  on  a  hard  bench 
in  the  chiuuiey-corner,  metliinks  it  will  be 
an  admirable  opportunity  for  making  this 
worthy  better  known  to  the  courteous  reader 
than  he  is,  which  cannot,  in  common  policy, 
be  let  pass. 

Titus  Swashbuckler,  sometime  an  an- 
cient, above  which  dignity  he  never  rose, 
notwithstanding  it  hath  been  his  good  plea- 
sure nigh  upon  a  score  of  yettrs  to  be  styled 
captain,  was  as  well  known  in  every  ordin- 
ary in  the  city  as  the  conduit  in  Eastcheap. 
How  he  lived  was  oft  a  mystery  to  many, 
but  that  he  did  live,  and  with  very  tolerable 
accommodations,  the  many  who  beheld  him 
on  his  customary  stool,  in  one  or  other  of 
these  houses  of  entertainment,  eating  and 
drinking  evidently  to  his  heart's  content, 
were  satisfied  there  was  no  manner  of 
doubting. 

Certes,his  apparelling  never  looked  to  be 
of  the  newest,  and  his  linen  often  showed  a 
marvellous  inclination  for  the  buck-basket, 
but  as  he  took  on  himself  the  character  of  a 
cast-captain,  these  signs  vv'ere  never  regard-  ' 


54 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  as  marvellous,  and  as  he  had  tlio  faculty 
of  making  liimself  aorceable  to  any  one  wlio 
seemed  capable  of  paying  his  reckoning, 
and  never  attempted  to  offend  such  as  look- 
ed in  good  odour  witli  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, he  grew  speedily  to  be  as  well  liked 
as  any  one  of  his  calling. 

It  is  said  that  liis  principal  source  of  sub- 
sistence was  teacliing  the  use  of  the  rapier 
and  dagger ;  for  in  l*aul"s  Walk  his  bills 
might  often  be  seen,  offering  to  teach  any 
kind  of  weapon,  and  challenging  all  comers 
at  fence  for  a  thousand  crowns.  Where  he 
was  to  tind  a  tiiousandth  part  of  this  sum 
was,  si-x  days  out  of  seven,  as  complete  a 
puzzle  as  ever  was  the  sphinx  to  the  learn- 
edest  scholar  in  Christendom,  but  greater 
difficulties  never  troubled  the  valiant  cap- 
tain. His  challenge  was  repeated  as  often 
as  it  got  defaced  and  torn  down  ;  and  as 
none  of  the  celebrated  swordsmen  in  Eu- 
rope, Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  to  whom  it 
was  particularly  directed,  seemed  desirous 
of  obtaining  the  said  handsome  wager  of 
him,  he,  doubtless  very  disconsolately,  was 
forced  to  content  himself  with  teaching  the 
youth  of  London,  for  the  trifling  considera- 
tion of  sixpence  a  lesson,  those  marvellous 
tricks  of  fence  which  had  got  for  him  so  ex- 
ceeding terrible  a  name,  none  dared  enter 
the  lists  with  him. 

This  teaching,  therefore,  was  considered 
to  be  his  chief  means  of  living,  though  it 
had  been  noised  abroad  that  the  cast-cap- 
tain, whenever  there  was  a  likelihood  of 
gain,  would  have  recourse  to  numberless 
other  arts  in  less  credit  with  the  world.  He 
pretended  to  teach  all  the  delicate  mysteries 
of  the  duello,  as  practised  in  the  first  courts 
of  Europe,  and  was  ready,  for  a  proper  re- 
compense, as  had  been  the  case  with  the  un- 
fortunate player,  to  be  the  second  of  any 
gentleman  desirous  of  showing  the  most  ex- 
act familiarity  with  these  important  obser- 
vances :  nay,  if  he  had  lilting  remunera- 
tion, he  wt  luld  be  glad  to  take  up  any  man's 
quarrel,  nn  matter  how  bad  a  cause  he  had. 
Then,  shoukl  any  gallant  want  a  blade  of 
exceeding  good  repute,  lie  would  have  one 
ready  at  your  hand  in  a  presently  ;  one  of 
a  thousand,  so  sweet  a  temper,  so  rare  an 
edge,  neither  Damascus  nor  Toledo  had  seen 
such  choice  metal ;  indeed,  on  his  honor,  it 
was  given  him  in  such  a  famous  battle,  by 
some  great  general  of  the  enemy,  whom  the 
fortune  of  war  had  made  his  prisoner,  and 
he  would  not  part  with  it  did  he  not  esti- 
mate your  worth  and  valour  so  highly. 
Tliereupon  he  would  ask,  perchance,  hfly 
gcjld  pieces,  swearing  the  whilst  it  was  of 
inestimable  value,  and,  noting  your  indiffer- 


ence to  purchase,  would  speedily  bring 
down  his  demand  to  a  matter  of  a  few  shil- 
lings, insisting  on  it  he'd  let  you  have  it  at 
so  poor  a  price  out  of  pure  aflcction.  JMay- 
hap,  you  are  at  last  induced  to  buy  it,  and 
in  good  time  discover  this  matchless  weapon 
to  be  as  good  a  blade — for  toasting  cheese 
withal — as  any  you  are  like  to  meet  with. 

Such  was  Titus  Swashbuckler,  as  he 
rode  out  of  the  yard  of  the  Golden  Dragon 
by  the  side  of  John  Hall ;  after  having,  as  a 
matter  of  especial  favor,  allowed  his  new 
acquaintance  to  pay  his  score  of  tvvo  shil- 
lings !ind  eightpence,  at  the  inn,  protesting, 
very  heartily,  on  the  honor  of  a  soldier,  he 
had  not  so  much  as  a  doit  in  his  purse,  he 
having  thoughtlessly,  the  night  before,  on 
being  applied  to,  emptied  its  contents  into 
the  hat  of  a  poor  fellow,  who  had  fought  by 
his  side  at  the  taking  of  Cadiz,  and  was 
then  in  the  utmost  extremity  of  want. 

As  they  jogged  on  togetlier,  the  captain 
entertained  his  young  companion  with  the 
most  v>onderful  tales  of  battles  and  sieges ; 
in  the  which  nothing  appeared  so  evident 
as  the  narrator's  exceeding  valor.  Among 
other  things,  he  stated  how  he  had  lost  his 
eye,  when  with  a  few  other  daring  spirits 
he  was  in  the  act  of  boarding  a  galleon  in 
the  Spanish  main — a  villanous  Spaniard 
having  tin'ust  it  out  with  a  pipe — but,  find- 
ing his  listener  did  not  enter  into  these  spir- 
it-stirring recollections  with  the  interest  he 
expected  and  desired,  and  did  not  show  the 
least  anxiety  to  become  possessed  of  the  in- 
comparable weapon  that  had  been  the  favor- 
ite rapier  of  no  less  a  hero  than  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  and  had  been  presented  by  his 
widow  to  her  deceased  husband's  brother  in 
arms.  Captain  Titus  Swashbuckler,  at  that 
hero's  particular  request  in  his  dying  mo- 
ments, the  valiant  captain  felt  a  wish  to 
learn  something  more  of  his  fellow-traveller 
than  the  little  he  at  present  knew,  before  he 
expended  any  more  of  his  eloquence  upon 
him. 

Such  an  inclination  was  easily  gratified, 
being  directed  upon  one  so  candid  and  un- 
suspecting ;  and  the  young  student  of  me- 
dicine, in  a  few  words,  told  the  valiant  cap- 
tain who  he  was,  for  what  object  he  was 
travelling,  and  whither  he  was  going. 

"  By  this  sword,  this  is  strange  indeed  !" 
exclaimed  the  master  of  fence,  with  every 
appearance  of  excessive  astonishment. 
'•  How  exceeding  fortunate  it  is  that  I  have 
met  you  on  your  journey.  Master  Hall." 

"  Why  so,  good  Captain?"  inquired  the 
youth. 

"  Fore  George  !  if  there  be  one  man  with 
whom  1  am  more  familiar  than  another,  it  is 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


55 


mine  estimable  worthy  friend  blaster  Doc- 
tor Posset.  Why,  we  are  sworn  brothers  ! 
Many  a  gay  carouse  have  we  had  together, 
I  promise  you ;  tor  the  Doctor,  i'faith,  be- 
longeth  to  the  fraternity  of  jolly  dogs,  and 
doth  the  order  no  small  credit." 

The  young  student  did  not  think  this 
character  any  recommendation ;  for  his 
opinion  of  what  a  skilful  physician  should 
be  did  not  harmonize  at  all  with  the  im- 
pression made  by  his  companion's  descrip- 
tion of  the  man  with  whom  he  was  about  to 
commence  a  tinishing  course  of  study  in 
medicine,  previous  to  seeking  a  degree. 

"  I  tell  you,  my  worthy  youncj  Escula- 
pius,"  continued  the  valiant  captain,  "  you 
have  met  with  especial  good  fortune  in 
having  made  choice  of  so  admirable  proper 
an  instructor.  He  is  a  rare  fellow,  this 
Doctor,  and  one  in  as  absolute  repi>te  for 
his  skill  witli  the  sick,  as  for  his  pleasant- 
ness with  the  hale.  Many  a  bottle  have  we 
cracked  together,  and  shall  again  as  long 
as  there  shall  be  any  virtue  in  good  wine." 

'■  Hath  lie  many  patients  ?"  inquired  John 
Hall,  very  coolly. 

"  By  this  sword,  he  hath  such  store  of  pa- 
tients, I  know  not  they  who  have  not,  at 
some  time  or  other,  sought  to  obtain  benefit 
at  his  hands." 

The  young  student  began  to  feel  more  re- 
conciled. 

"  You  cannot  help  being  wondrous  con- 
tent with  your  condition,  my  young  friend," 
remarked  the  ancient.  "  You  will  find  the 
Doctor  such  excellent  company,  and  one  so 
learned,  withal,  in  the  flavor  of  choice  wine, 
you  are  not  like  to  meet,  search  where  \'ou 
will." 

"  I  do  not  much  need  such  knowledge,'' 
answered  the  young  physician,  gravely  ; 
"  and,  methinks,  a  practitioner  of  physic 
ought  to  have  studies  of  a  very  diflerent 
sort." 

"  Fore  George,  well  said !"  cried  the 
soldier,  who  was  of  so  amiable  a  disposi- 
tion, he  never  differed  with  a  person  on 
whose  purse  he  had  any  design.  "  This 
same  drinking-  must  needs  be  of  huge  detri- 
ment to  the  proper  study  of  medicine  ;  and, 
for  mine  own  part,  I  cannot  believe  one  jot 
of  what  the  idle  world  reports  concerning 
the  doctor's  fondness  for  good  wine.  Indeed, 
this  world  is  so  villanously  given  to  lying, 
it  must  needs  be  the  safest  policy  never  to 
believe  a  word  one  hears.  On  mine  honor 
as  a  soldier,  I  take  the  doctor  to  care  as 
little  for  wine,  as  the  gravest  physician  of 
them  all.  He  would  scorn  to  take  more 
than  became  him.     But  if  you  are  not  like 


to  meet  temptations  to  intemperance,  you 
will  find  in  his  house  seductions  less  easily 
to  be  withstood." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  in  some 
alarm. 

"  Out  of  all  doubt.  Master  Doctor  !"  cried 
the  other,  in  a  joyful  tone.  "  This  learned 
physician,  let  me  tell  you,  hath  a  daughter 
just  of  an  age,  a  form  and  countenance  that 
would  make  a  man's  heart  melt  within  him, 
were  he  ever  so  little  given  to  the  dear  sex. 
And  the  little  fiery  god  play  not  the  very 
devil  with  you  ere  you  have  been  a  week 
under  the  same  roof  with  her  exquisite 
lustrous  ej'es,  I  am  no  master  of  fence." 

"  I  care  little  for  these  things,"  quietly 
replied  the  student,  on  whom  his  mother's 
grave  entreaties  touching  his  behavior,  which 
were  almost  the  last  words  she  spoke  to  him, 
now  exercised  their  fullest  influence. 

The  valiant  captain  stared  with  all  his 
solitary  eye.  To  meet  with  a  young  man 
for  whom  martial  stories  had  no  interest, 
wine  no  attraction,  and  who  was  indif- 
ferent to  the  charms  of  woman,  seemed  so 
extraordinary  that  he  could  scarce  credit  his 
senses.  Believing  that  no  good  was  to  be 
got  by  exercising  his  talents  upon  such  in- 
sensible materials,  he  was  about  to  enter- 
tain the  idea  of  getting  rid  of  such  unj)rofi- 
tabie  society,  when  the  remembrance  of  the 
two-and-eiglitpence  he  had  already  ])ocketed 
induced  him  to  continue  his  exertions. 

"  I  doubt  not  you  are  a  master  of  your 
weapon,"  observed  the  cast  cajjtain.  "  Nay, 
that  warlike  look  and  bearing  you  have  with 
you  telleth  me  you  arc  as  perfect  a  swords- 
man as  any  one  of  your  years.  Fore 
George,  here  is  a  pretty  soldier  spoiled  !" 

Now,  John  Hall  had  as  little  of  the  soldier 
in  him  as  you  might  hope  to  find  in  an  apple 
custard  ;  and,  instead  of  a  warlike  look  and 
bearing,  wore  the  peaceablest  air  possible. 

"  Perchance,  you  have  killed  your  enemy 
now  already,"  added  his  companion.  "  Heart 
o'  me,  I  am  sure  on't!" 

"  In  sooth,  you  misjudge  me  hugely," 
replied  the  student.  "  My  vocation  is  to 
cure,  not  to  kill ;  and  so  little  do  I  know  of 
the  soldier's  art,  that  I  am  as  ignorant  of 
the  sword  as  the  babe  that  hath  not  yet  seen 
the  light." 

"  This  is  strange  indeed  !"  observed  the 
captain,  as  though  monstrously  astonished. 
"  As  I  live,  I  would  not  have  believed  a  tittle 
of  it,  had  you  not  told  it  me  yourself.  Why, 
how  dost  intend  to  live,  sweet  sir  ?  A  youth 
of  your  goodly  appearance,  that  must  needs 
associate  with  gallants  of  the  court,  and 
young  citizens  who  are  as  familiar  with  their 


56 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


weapons  as  witli  their  tootlipicks — why  you 
cannot  but  be  a  lost  man,  know  you  not  how 
to  stand  on  your  defence." 

"  1  will  take  lieed  I  give  offence  to 
none ;  then,  of  a  surety,  I  must  escape 
harm."' 

"  Fore  gad !  such  a  thing  was  never 
known,"  added  the  master  of  fence,  vehe- 
mently. "  It  be  as  necessary  for  a  man  to 
know  his  weapon  as  to  know  his  alphabet  ; 
nay,  in  mine  opinion,  the  weapon  deserveth 
to  be  considered  the  most  essential  of  the 
two,  for  with  it  a  man  shall  not  only  be  able 
to  keep  his  life  secure,  but  shall  carve  for 
himself  a  way  to  fortune,  reputation,  and  his 
mistress'  favor,  which  the  extremest  cun- 
ning in  letters  cannot  effect. " 

The  young  student  rode  on,  apparently 
but  little  interested  in  his  companion's  argu- 
ment, but  he  offered  no  oj)position  to  what 
he  had  just  advanced. 

"  I  will  give  you  an  instance,  Master 
Esculapius,"  he  continued,  "  of  the  e.xceed- 
ing  importance  of  being  skilled  in  noble 
swordmanship.  When  I  was  in  Spain,  with 
the  forces  of  my  very  excellent  good  friend 
and  admirable  commander,  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
who  with  that  valiant  admirable  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  the  thrice  noble  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
and  in  short  nigh  upon  all  our  chiefest  offi- 
cers, had  of  me  their  well  known  cunning 
of  fence,  I  was  sent  on  a  mission  of  import- 
ance, being  considered  one  of  the  few  fit  to 
bj  employed  on  such  high  occasions,  as 
much  for  my  daring  valor,  as  for  my  ripe 
experience  in  martial  affairs.  I  was  pro- 
ceeding alone  through  the  outskirts  of  Cadiz, 
intent  on  the  performing  of  my  mission  with 
credit,  when,  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  a 
convent,  I  became  aware  of  an  ambuscade 
of  villanous  Spaniards — nigh  upon  a  dozen 
— in  soolh,  I  will  not  assert  there  were  not 
tliirteen — but  they  were  the  horriblest  cut- 
throat dogs  I  had  ever  met.  I  promise  you 
my  rapier  was  in  my  hand  in  a  second,  and 
ere  you  could  count  one,  1  had  stretched  two 
of  my  assailants  at  my  feet." 

"  Still  your  foes  were  too  numerous  for 
one  man  to  combat  with  ;"  said  John  Hall, 
innocently.  "  Methinks  there  could  be  no 
great  difficulty  in  some  of  them  taking  you 
from  behind,  whilst  you  were  defending  your- 
self in  front." 

"  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  I  grant 
you,"  readily  returned  the  cast-captain. 
"  But  you  should  take  into  consideration  my 
wonderful  mastery  of  my  weapon,  which 
liatli  enabled  me  to  triumph  over  all  the 
most  distinguished  swordsmen  from  every 
part  of  the  civilized  globe,  whom  I  have 
overcome  by  a  secret  stroke  it  is  not  possible 


for  any  one  to  withstand.,  however  great  a 
master  of  fence  he  may  be." 

"I  knew  not  that,  valiant  captain,"  ob- 
served the  young  physician,  seemingly  in 
some  surprise. 

"  Fore  George,  I  could  have  guessed  as 
much  !"  replied  the  rodoutable  Swashbuck- 
ler. "  But  to  the  telling  of  my  tale.  Such 
was  the  quickness  of  my  eye,  and  the  e.x- 
cellence  of  my  guard,  that  my  opjionents 
could  not  touch  me  any  one  of  them,  and 
their  numbers,  by  their  jostling  together, 
made  them  unable  to  defend  themselves,  as 
they  otherwise  might,  against  my  quick  and 
fatal  thrusts.  One  by  one  they  dropped 
around  me,  till  three  only  were  left,  when, 
feeling  somewhat  tired  by  my  great  exer- 
tions in  this  unequal  fight,  I  sought  some 
mean  or  another  of  bringing  the  combat  to 
a  speedy  close.  And  what  think  you,  sweet 
sir,  I  did  ?" 

"  In  sooth,  I  know  not,"  said  the  student. 

"  This  was  it,"  answered  the  ancient,  with 
a  very  commendable  gravity.  "  I  employed 
all  the  strategy  of  which  I  was  master  to 
set  my  assailants  in  a  line,  and  then,  sudden 
as  a  flash  of  lightning,  with  one  terrible 
lunge,  I  pinned  my  three  Spaniards  against 
the  wall." 

"  That  was  marvellous  indeed !"  exclaim- 
ed John  Hall,  with  a  tone  and  look  of  pro- 
digious surprise. 

"  By  this  sword,  I  held  them  as  easily  as 
so  many  larks  on  a  skewer,"  added  the 
master  of  fence.  "  Now  this  shewelh  how 
absolutely  necessary  it  is  for  every  one  to 
have  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his  weapon. 
I  must  needs  have  the  teaching  of  you,  Mas- 
ter Hall.  It  must  not  be  allowed  that  one 
who  holdeth  himself  so  handsomely,  should 
be  at  the  mercy  of  every  lewd  fellow,  who 
chooseth  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him.  When 
you  have  so  little  chance  with  one,  if  you 
should  be  set  upon  by  numbers,  as  was  I, 
you  would  be  cut  to  pieces  presently." 

"  Methinks,  I  ani  little  likely  to  be  in  such 
peril,"  said  the  youth, "  seeing  I  am  not  a 
valiant  captain  like  yourself,  and,  having  no 
intention  of  voyaging  to  Spain,  I  must  needs 
be  safe  from  Spanish  ambuscades." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  Master  Hall,  I  doubt  it 
not;"  quickly  replied  Swashbuckler.  "But 
a  man  who  hath  not  a  proper  diigree  of  skill 
in  the  handling  of  his  weapon,  standeth  no 
better  chance  in  England  than  elsewhere. 
The  highways  are  beset  with  villanous  cut- 
purses — desperate  unruly  thieves,  who  get 
together  in  companies  and  despoil  the  travel- 
ler, both  of  his  life,  and  of  whatever  he  hath 
about  him." 

"  Can  skill  with  the  sword  avail  the  travel- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


57 


ler  if  these  cut-purses  be  armed  with  pis- 
tolets  ?"  inquired  the  young  physician. 

"  Out  of  all  doubt,"  answered  the  other, 
with  as  perfect  a  confidence  as  ever  was 
seen.  "If  you  will  be  taught,  1  will  show 
how  one  may  defend  himself  at  any  odds 
against  such  rascal  fellows,  and  run  every 
one  tlirough  the  body,  by  my  infallible  secret 
stroke,  ere  he  have  time  to  pull  a  trigger." 
"  I  knew  not  the  use  of  the  sword  could 
bo  made  of  such  advantage,"  observed  the 
young  physician. 

"  Truly,  tliere  is  no  telling  the  marvel  the 
skill  I  teach  can  be  made  to  perforin,"  grave- 
ly asserted  the  master  of  fence.  "  One  fact 
is  wortli  a  volume  of  discourses.  I  have  so 
often  stretched  these  cut-purse  villains  in 
the  dust,  when  they  have  set  on  me  in  a 
body,  that,  be  they  ever  in  such  great  num- 
bers, they  durst  not  come  a  near  me.  The 
last  acquaintance  I  had  of  them  was  in  Tot- 
hill  Fields,  when  two  sturdy  knaves  set  on 
me  with  a  sword  and  dagger,  and  two  more 
took  to  their  pistolots,  seeking  to  get  a  sure 
aim.  What  think  you  I  did  in  this  strait  ?" 
"  It  seemeth  to  me  past  telling,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Like  enough,  good  youth ;"  answered 
Swashbuckler.  '•  I  thought  a  long  time 
how  I  could  with  great  de.xterity  escape  from 
tliese  miscreants,  and  made  use  of  a  master- 
stroke of  policy  for  that  purpose." 

"  After  what  fashion,  valiant  captain  ?" 
"  This  was  the  manner  of  it,  Master  Hall. 
I  did  so  skip  and  so  jump,  and  so  dodge 
about,  that  they  with  the  pistolets  could  get 
no  aim  at  me,  without  putting  their  fellow 
rogues  to  imminent  danger  :  so  they  all 
spread  themselves  to  have  at  me,  and  were, 
as  I  could  see,  exceeding  eager  for  my 
destruction.  Seeing  they  with  the  pistolets 
right  over-against  each  other,  I  gave  them 
good  opportunity  for  aiming,  whilst  I  allow- 
ed the  sword  and  dagger  men,  whom  I  had 
got  in  a  like  opposite  situation,  to  prepare  a 
fatal  spring  at  me.  Watching  my  time,  on 
a  sudden  1  jumped  clean  away  from  them. 
And  what  think  you  followed  ?" 
"  Perchance,  they  made  after  you." 
"  Fore  George,  they  were  in  no  case  for 
moving  a  step  !  The  sword  and  dagger 
men  fell  thrust  through  by  each  other's  hands 
at  the  same  moment  of  time  they  with  the 
pistolets  shot  each  other  through  the  head." 
"  As  I  live,  a  most  strange  thing!"  ex- 
claim3d  the  youth  very  much  astonished. 
"  But  what  sort  of  company  have  we 
here  ?"  he  added,  pointing  to  some  men 
who  seemed  to  be  making  towards  them  in 
the  direction  they  were  proceeding :  "  now, 
if  they  chance  to  be  cut-purses,  valiant  cap- 


tain, methinks  they  had  best  away  with 
themselves  as  they  are  wont  to  do  at  the 
sight  of  you,  as  quick  as  they  can — else 
your  exceeding  skill  with  your  weapon  must 
needs  be  their  entire  destruction." 

Captain  Swashbuckler  at  this  directed  his 
gaze  where  he  was  required,  and,  after  a 
few  minutes  sharp  scrutiny,  suddenly  put 
spurs  to  his  horse  and  turned  at  full  speed 
down  a  bye  lane  ;  but  wliilst  John  Ilall  was 
marvelling  at  this  strange  behavior,  he  notic- 
ed the  men  who  were  approaching  quicken- 
ing their  pace  towards  him,  and  seeing  they 
were  armed  and  of  a  very  vagrant-like  ap- 
pearance, he  looked  to  his  weapons.  As 
they  rushed  towards  him  with  tlireatenings 
and  imprecations,  he  had  just  time  to  be  on 
his  guard,  and,  one  of  the  villains  attempting 
to  seize  his  bridle,  he  let  fly  at  him  presently, 
and,  doubtless  wounded  him,  for  he  fell  back 
into  the  arms  of  one  of  his  associates. 

It  was  evident  that  neither  Dapple  nor 
Jack  had  ever  so  slight  an  acquaintance  with 
the  munitions  of  war,  for,  as  in  a  previous 
instance  of  a  similar  sort,  on  the  instant  they 
heard  the  report  of  the  pistolet,  they  started 
off  with  a  desperateness  that  rendered  futile 
all  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  cut-purses  to 
lay  a  hold  on  tlieir  riders  ;  the  old  horse 
giving  one  of  the  rascals  so  sharp  a  kick  as 
sent  him  to  the  ground,  yelling  like  a  dog 
that  hath  got  his  tail  jammed  in  a  door-way. 
Simon  Stockhsh  had  not  passed  unprofi- 
tably  the  time  taken  up  by  the  discourse  of 
his  master  with  the  cast-captain.  He  had 
been  thinking  with  a  wondrous  intentness 
on  the  best  means  of  securing  his  young 
master's  safety  till  he  got  him  securely  hous- 
ed in  the  dwelling  of  the  famous  Doctor 
Posset,  in  Barbican  ;  after  imagining  all 
sorts  of  evils  it  was  possible  for  him  to  meet 
during  the  remainder  of  his  journey,  and 
every  possible  kind  of  remedy  for  one  and 
all  of  them,  he  had  just  come  to  the  sage 
conclusion,  founded  on  the  little  profit  he  had 
got,  of  the  ability  to  help  him  in  his  need, 
that  it  would  be  discreetest  to  let  things  take 
their  course,  when  the  tiring  of  the  pistolet 
and  the  uncontrollable  fuiy  of  his  steed  put 
an  end  to  his  reflections.  For  some  time,  he 
had  quite  enough  to  do  to  endeavor  to  keep 
his  seat,  and  probably  this  inability  to  inter- 
fere secured  his  master's  safety  and  his  own. 
They  pursued  the  rest  of  the  way  without 
any  adventure  worth  naming;  not,  however, 
without  Dapple  and  Jack  creating  a  vast 
deal  of  attention  wherever  they  appeared; 
and,  after  some  dithculty,  the  young  phy- 
sician found  out  the  place  of  his  destination. 
Those  goodly  steeds  were  at  once  sent  to 
proper  stables,  that  they  might  have  a  suffi- 


68 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


cient  rest  previous  to  thoir  return  to  their 
owners  the  next  day,  in  the  careful  custotly 
of  Simon  Stocktitsli. 

John  Mali  was  so  fortunate  as  to  meet 
his  instructor  in  tlie  art  and  mystery  of  medi- 
cine, witliin  a  few  doors  of  his  dwelhng. 
Dr.  Posset  appeared  to  be  a  little  man,  of  a 
lively  temperament,  having  grey  hair,  grow- 
ing very  thin,  carefully  curled  ;  his  short 
beard  being  looked  after  with  equal  atfection. 
His  eyebrows  were  very  thick,  and  jutting 
out  exceedingly,  under  which  were  a  pair 
of  keen,  hawk-like  eyes.  A  thick  and  mis- 
shapen nose,  and  a  mouth  of  a  moderate 
size,  drawn  in  by  loss  of  teeth,  completed 
the  list  of  his  principal  features.  His  dress 
was  a  sober  suit  of  plum-colored  cloth,  with 
falling  band  and  rutHes  ;  hose  of  the  same 
color  ;  a  velvet  cap,  without  a  feather  ;  and 
square-toed  shoes,  without  roses ;  and  these, 
with  a  long  staff  in  his  hand,  tipped  with 
ivory,  made  up  the  distinguishing  marks  of 
his  apparelling. 

On  lirst  spying  him.  Dr.  Posset,  as  though 
in  no  manner  of  doubt  as  to  his  man,  gave 
him  a  hearty  welcome,  inquired  after  his 
good  mother,  and  how  he  had  borne  the 
journey,  and  hoped  they  should  be  e.xcellent 
friends,  and  that  the  youth  might  find  with 
him  as  pleasant  a  home  as  the  one  he  had 
left. 

The  house  wherein  the  student  was  about 
to  find  a  dwelling  seemed  to  him  a  fair  edi- 
fice, though  bearing  an  antique  and  some- 
what gloomy  aspect.  The  chambers  above 
the  ground  floor  projected  into  the  street, 
and  much  rude  carving  was  observable 
round  the  door  and  over  the  lower  casement ; 
a  rude  figure  representing  the  goddess  Hy- 
geia,  carved  in  oak,  was  displayed  at  full 
length,  with  all  her  proper  attributes,  in  a 
prominent  place  above  the  door ;  whilst  a 
head  of  Galen,  in  monstrous  dingy  colors, 
was  slung  in  an  iron  frame  in  front  of  it. 
Above  the  front  story  projected  another,  with 
much  the  same  sort  of  wide  casements,  all 
black  with  time  and  weather  stains  ;  and  in 
the  shelving  roof,  there  seemed  to  be  one  or 
two  more,  though  of  a  much  smaller  sort. 

The  houses  adjoining  were  of  the  same 
respectable  sort,  belonging  to  persons  of 
substance  and  credit,  most  of  them  having 
some  sort  of  sign  to  distinguish  the  calling 
of  the  tenant;  and,  as  bravely-apparelled 
gallants,  discreet  gentlewomen,  and  citizens 
of  fair  repute,  were  seen  going  in  and  out 
of  them,  there  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt 
but  that  Barbican  was  a  place  peopled  by 
thriving  and  respectable  citizens. 

John  Hall  followed  his  conductor  through 
the  door,  which  he  opened  with  a  latch,  and 


found  himself  in  a  capacious  hall,  having 
chambers  to  the  right  and  left,  distinguish- 
able by  the  open  doors  which  led  into  them  ; 
and  there  was  a  staircase  at  the  further  end, 
the  lower  part  being  seen  through  another 
open  door  at  the  left,  corresponding  with  a 
closed  door,  or  rather  wicket,  at  the  right, 
formed  in  an  oaken  partition  of  some  eight 
or  ten  feet  high  ;  the  upper  part  of  the  stair- 
case being  visible  above  it ;  the  wicket  lead- 
ing to  the  back  premises,  and  the  other  door 
to  the  chambers  above. 

John  Hall  had  scarcely  time  to  notice 
these  particulars,  when  his  attention  became 
completely  engrossed  by  a  number  of  persons 
grouped  about  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Stretch- 
ed at  her  full  length  on  the  steps,  her  head 
supported  in  the  lap  of  an  elderly  female  of 
a  monstrous  sharp  visage,  a  younger  one 
sitting  at  her  feet,  whilst  a  stout  youth  had 
firm  possession  of  her  arms,  lay  a  girl, 
evidently  just  entering  upon  her  career  of 
womanhood. 

She  appeared  rather  of  a  tall  stature,  with 
limbs  somewhat  large,  though  by  no  means 
ungraceful,  well-rounded  arms  and  bust, 
being  in  a  low,  tight  bodice,  were  at  least 
sure  of  being  regarded  admiringly  ;  and  her 
dainty  farthingale  disclosed  sufficient  of  her 
ancles  to  prove  they  were  no  less  commend- 
able. Her  features  bespoke  nothing  of  a 
singular  comeliness,  hut  they  were  seen  to 
no  sort  of  advantage,  the  eyes  being  fixed, 
the  nostrils  dilated,  the  mouth  opening  and 
shutting  as  though  with  sudden  spasms, 
and  the  complexion  pallid,  whilst  the  abun- 
dance of  her  glossy  hair  strayed  in  confusion 
over  her  forehead  and  shoulders. 

She  made  a  strange  mumbling  sound,  and 
threw  out  her  arms  by  sudden  starts,  which 
he  who  grasped  them — albeit  he  did  not 
seem  to  lack  strength — had  much  ado  to 
keep  under  his  commandment.  Anon  she 
I  would  strive  to  overthrow  those  who  held 
her,  by  some  prodigious  efibrt  of  strength, 
which  it  was  with  exceeding  difficulty  tiiey 
could  withstand  ;  and  failing  in  this,  burst 
out  into  a  monstrous  passion  of  laughter  so 
long  and  loud,  it  was  as  though  all  Pande- 
monium were  moved  by  some  devilish  je.st ; 
and,  after  this,  straightway  commenced  talk- 
ing eagerly  the  strangest  stuff  ever  heard, 
the  which  was  only  brought  to  an  ending  by 
a  sudden  and  mighty  dashing  of  herself  as 
though  to  escape,  which  was  soon  followed 
by  another  wild  scream  of  laughter  more 
fierce  than  ever. 

Near  her  stood  one  with  a  vessel  of  water, 
which  was  being  sprinkled  on  her  face, 
whilst  another  held  burnt  feathers  to  her 
nose,  and  a   third   was   approaching  with 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


59 


soma  kind  of  medicine  in  a  glass.  Other 
remedies  were  suggested  by  her  distressed 
companions,  but  slie  minded  them  none  at 
all,  for  she  struggled,  and  screamed,  and 
gabbled,  and  laughed  with  increasing  fury. 
Whilst  John  Hall  gazed  on  this  scene 
with  the  most  absolute  astonishment,  it 
seemed  to  fill  his  conductor  with  nothing  but 
vexation,  for  he  spoke  impatiently,  now 
wringing  his  hands  and  casting  up  his  eyes, 
and  anon  pacing  up  and  down  with  his 
hands  behind  him. 

All  at  once  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  less 
tearing  humor.  At  this  the  young  man  bent 
his  head  near  the  ear  of  the  sick  girl,  and, 
whispering  with  an  impressing  earnestness, 
as  though  calling  to  her,  the  name  of  "  Mil- 
licent."  He  had  scarce  done  so,  when  she 
re])lied,  in  a  fiiint  and  languid  voice,  and 
thereupon  commenced  a  dialogue  between 
the  two.  the  one  asking  how  she  felt,  and 
what  she  would  have  done  for  her  ;  and  the 
other  answering  she  was  better,  and  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  taken  to  her 
chamber. 

Preparations  were  soon  made  for  carrying 
her  wishes  into  effect,  the  youth  seeming  to 
take  nearly  ail  the  burthen  of  her  conveyance 
upon  himself. 

It  was  easy  to  guess  that  the  sick  girl 
was  the  physician's  daughter ;  the  elder 
female  was  a  neighbor,  following  the  trade 
of  a  capper,  in  Golden  Lane  ;  the  other  was 
a  young  friend  ;  the  youth  was  an  appren- 
tice to  Dr.  Posset  of  more  than  a  year's 
standing ;  and  the  others  were  certain  ac- 
quaintances of  the  physician's — neighbors 
and  gossips — invited  by  him,  to  welcome 
amongst  them  the  young  scholar,  whose 
studies  he  was  about  to  superintend. 

As  the  young  physician  watched  the  re- 
treating form  of  the  fair  Millicent  up  the 
stairs,  was  he  recalling  the  seductive  charac- 
ter of  the  one  who  was  about  to  be  his  near 
associate  for  a  long  period,  which  he  had 
heard  from  the  estimable  Captain  Swash- 
buckler ?  It  did  not  recur  to  his  mind,  for 
&  single  moment.  He  thought  only  of  what 
was  writ  in  a  certain  part  of  Galen  on  the 
subject  of  epilepsy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

You  neede  not  goe  abroade  to  bee  tempted  '■ 
you  shall  bee  intised  at  your  own  windowes. 
The  best  oouncel  that  I  can  give  you  is  to  keepe 
at  home,  and  shun  all  occasion  of  ill  speech. 
The  Schoole  of  Abuse. 

We  may  not  tarry  with  the  bereaved  fath- 


er longer  than  will  suffice  for  the  reader's 
proper  understanding  of  his  unutterable  sor- 
row. By  the  death  of  his  so  deeply  beloved 
son,  Master  Shakspeare's  heart  was  smote 
a.s  though  the  king  of  terrors  had  dealt 
therein  his  fiercest  dart.  He  recovered  so 
far  as  to  follow  to  its  last  resting-place  all 
that  remained  of  the  form  which  had  so  long 
been  the  chiefest  object  in  every  ambitious 
dream,  with  a  seeming  marvellous  calm  and 
patience  ;  but  when  he  heard  the  clods  of 
earth  rattle  against  the  little  coffin,  there 
rushed  into  his  mind  so  vast  a  sense  of  the 
sumless  love  there  buried  and  lost  for  ever, 
that  his  oppressed  brain  could  not  bear  the 
burden  of  it,  and  he  straightway  fell  into 
such  a  passionate  frenzy,  it  was  with  a  mon- 
strous to  do  he  could  be  got  home ;  and  only 
with  many  strong  men's  help,  day  and  night, 
could  he  be  kept  to  his  chamber.  How 
wildly  he  raved  ;  how  piercingly  he  called 
on  the  remorseless  tomb  to  give  up  its 
youthful  tenant ;  how  fiercely  he  waged  war 
on  divers  shadowy  powers,  which,  in  his 
fantasy,  kept  from  him  his  heart's  best 
treasure ;  and  how  urgently  he  prayed  to 
what  seemed  to  him  the  unnatural  callous 
natures  that  set  at  nought  a  father's  agony, 
and  could  not  be  movjd  by  a  father's  love — 
it  passeth  the  skill  of  my  rude  pen  to  say. 
Perchance,  of  those  whose  eyes  wander  over 
these  pages,  there  shall  be  some  whose  af- 
fections have  been  uprooted  after  the  rude 
fashion  which  marked  the  love  of  this  noble 
gentleman  for  his  sweet  Hamnet,  and  can 
readily  conceive  the  manifold  workings  of 
so  terrible  tempestuous  an  earthquake  of  the 
heart ;  but,  doubtless,  there  shall  be  many 
who  know  nothing  of  these  things.  God 
keep  them,  to  their  lives'  end,  in  so  proper 
an  ignorance ! 

We  must,  however,  state  that,  partly  from 
the  sympathy  which  this  huge  atfliction  cre- 
ated for  miles  round,  now  directed  to  the 
promising  scholar,  anon  to  the  diligent  and 
well-pleased  master,  and  then  to  the  doting 
father,  and,  from  the  respect  felt  generally 
for  one  of  such  blameless  life  as  the  de- 
ceased vicar,  and  for  one  of  so  many  ad- 
mirable qualities  as  William  Shakspeare, 
there  was  at  the  funeral  so  numerous  an 
assemblage  as  had  never  been  known  be- 
fore to  have  congregated  on  such  an  oc- 
casion. 

Not  only  did  the  gentry  of  the  neighbor- 
hood attend,  but  every  one  of  the  corporation 
of  Stratford,  from  the  high  bailiff  to  the 
humblest  of  the  burgesses,  with  every  proper 
sign  of  mourning,  joined  in  the  melancholy 
procession.  Honored  with  the  sincere  re- 
grets of  rich  and  poor,  and  such  a  bountiful 


60 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


store  of  tears  from  man,  woman,  and  child, 
as  tIioui>h  their  deaths  wore  regarded  as  a 
public  calamity,  they,  who  had  been  so  long 
and  intiiuatoly  connected  by  a  nuitiial  love 
of  learning,  were  on  the  same  day  consigned 
to  their  narrow  homes.  Thougli  it  may  be 
said  of  thom,  that  tliey  brought  their  studies 
to  a  most  sorry  ending — that  their  eager  pur- 
suit of  wisdom  led  them  only  to  that  un- 
mat'jhable  dreary  state  where  alone  wisdom 
hath  no  privilege — who  shall  aver  that,  in 
those  groves  of  everlasting  verdure,  which 
hath  in  so  many  good  men's  minds  been  con- 
sidered the  abiding-place  of  all  intelligent 
spirits  that  have  passed  away  from  this 
lower  world,  that  diligent  and  affectionate 
scholar  is  not  at  this  very  moment  of  time 
enjoying  the  inestimable  lessons  of  the  mas- 
ter by  wliom  he  was  so  truly  loved  ? 

It  was  long  after  the  churchyard  was  de- 
serted, when  every  one  of  that  goodly  as- 
semblage by  whom  it  had  been  tilled  were 
in  their  own  more  enviable  homes,  reflecting 
on  the  affliction  that  had  visited  the  cottage 
at  Shottery,  one  mourner  still  lingered  about 
the  grave  of  Hamnet  Shakspeare.  It  was 
Talbot. 

The  poor  hound  had  managed  to  escape 
from  the  outhouse — where,  since  the  death 
of  his  young  playmate,  he  had  been  care- 
fully yet  kindly  confined — by  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  absence  at  the  funeral  of  the 
affectionate  creature  who  had  shewn  such 
friendly  heed  of  him.  Talbot  never  failed 
to  recognize  the  attentions  and  caresses  of 
the  gentle  Susanna,  but  the  food  she  brought 
was  left  untouched,  and  the  tears  with  which 
the  sorrowing  girl  mingled  her  persuasions  to 
take  the  tempting  morsels  she  put  before  him 
elicited  no  other  sign  of  his  attention  than 
an  uneasy  whine. 

By  what  singular  instinct  it  was,  on 
breaking  from  his  bonds  and  displacing  a 
loose  board,  he  made  direct  for  the  church- 
yard, cannot  be  explained  any  more  than  his 
immediately  selecting  the  exact  spot  beneath 
which  lay  all  that  remained  of  one  with 
whom  he  had  had  such  heaps  of  pleasant 
sport.  A  short  time  after  he  was  discover- 
ed howling  the  piercingest  tones  ever  heard, 
whilst  making  prodigious  efforts  to  tear  up 
the  soil  that  rested  on  Hamnet's  coffin.  To 
drive  him  or  coax  him  out  of  the  church- 
yard was  found  impossible,  till  Susanna, 
having  discovered  his  escape,  on  her  pro- 
ceeding at  her  return  homo  to  tempt  him 
once  more  with  some  nice  morsel,  hurried 
in  search  of  him,  and,  with  infinite  trouble, 
at  last  succeeded  in  getting  him  away. 

It  was  only  by  the  constant  care  and  exqui- 
site loving  kmdness  of  this  gentle  girl  that  the 


li  fe  of  the  poor  hound  was  saved.  For  a  long 
time  Talbot  looked  but  the  skeleton  of  what  he 
was.  Deeply  must  he  have  grieved  for  the 
loss  of  his  fast  friend  and  playmate.  He 
never  again  ventured  near  the  churchyard ; 
but,  when  allowed  to  wander  where  he 
chose,  he  would  take  every  possible  pains  to 
avoid  it.  And,  after  the  lapse  of  many 
months,  having  accompanied  some  of  the 
family  in  that  direction,  he  stopped  at  one 
of  the  gates,  and  set  up  so  pitiful  a  howl,  it 
moved  all  who  saw  him. 

Advancing  somewhat  in  time,  it  must  now 
be  stated,  that,  stretched  on  a  bed  in  a  cham- 
ber, the  which  may  readily  be  recognized  as 
the  one  in  which  young  Hamnet  died,  al- 
though it  had  since  seen  divers  alterations, 
lay  the  heart-broken  father,  slowly  recover- 
ing from  the  moral  and  physical  effects  of 
the  fatal  blow  at  his  happiness  he  had  so 
unexpectedly  received.  His  eyes  were  open, 
and,  though  dimmed  by  sorrow  and  long 
sickness,  still  shone  with  that  fine  spirit 
whereby  so  many  worthy  actions  of  his  had 
been  influenced  :  his  face  was  exceeding 
pale  and  much  wasted  ;  but  the  benevolence 
that  might  be  read  in  its  expression,  like  a 
written  language,  was  as  visible  as  ever; 
and  the  intelligence  that  spoke  as  intelligi- 
bly from  his  noble  forehead  as  though  it  were 
the  powerfullest  eloquence  ever  heard,  was 
such  as  neither  grief  nor  illness  had  any 
power  over. 

He  gazed  about  him  somewhat  strangely, 
leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  perchance 
for  obtaining  a  better  survey  of  his  cham- 
ber, and  his  eyes  wandered  over  all  its  ob- 
jects, but  could  not  bo  said  to  rest  on  any, 
till  it  fell  upon  a  plot  of  pansies  that  grew 
in  a  box  outside  the  open  casement^  and 
were  then  in  full  b'oom.  A  yellow  butter- 
fly— that  common  sign  of  summer  and  sun- 
shine— was  hovering  over  the  pretty  blos- 
soms, on  which  it  presently  descended. 

These  familiar  shapes,  that  speak,  too,  so 
cheerfully  of  life  and  its  most  exquisite 
sources  of  enjoyment,  did  not  present  them- 
selves to  the  mind  of  the  sick  man  without 
bearing  with  them  those  marvellous  lessons 
with  which  Nature,  in  her  exceeding  love, 
refreshes  the  weaiy  and  heals  the  wounded 
spirit.  Though  the  goodliest  edifice  that 
doting  affection  ever  raised  out  of  the  most 
e.xcusable  feelings  of  pride  and  ambition 
had  been  overthrown  to  its  very  foiuidations, 
and  the  poor  architect  stood  overwhelmed 
and  stunned  with  the  completeness  of  his 
ruin,  scarce  had  he  recovered  the  faculty  of 
seeing,  when  ho  became  sensible  that  life 
had  still  hopes,  and  Nature  bounties,  and  with 
such  help  more  secure  fabrics  might  be  built 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


61 


up  of  nearly  as  fair  proportions  and  lofty 
elevation. 

As  ho  continued  his  gaze  on  the  pansies, 
Master  Shakspeare's  thoughts  fell  out  of 
that  disordered  state  in  which  they  had  so 
long  been  left  to  wander,  and  gradually  grew 
into  a  wholesome  regularity.  That  they  led 
him  to  the  pleasant  mossy  banks,  and  the 
sweet  shady  nooks  where,  in  times  past,  he 
had  first  sought  to  indulge  that  sympathy 
for  the  beautiful  whicli  had  linked  so  indis- 
solubly  all  his  exquisitest  feeling  to  nature, 
can  be  no  marvel ;  that  they  convinced  him 
that  all  the  enjoyments  sought  by  him  out 
of  the  wide  rangp  of  unrivalled  pleasures 
she  offers  to  such  as  devote  themselves  to 
lier  service,  were  not  only  profitless,  but 
deeply  mischievous,  is  likewise  no  more  than 
natural :  and  that,  at  last,  they  directed  him 
for  the  future  to  place  his  whole  reliance  on 
those  means  of  happiness  still  at  his  dis- 
posal, as  having  in  this  pursuit  neither  vex- 
ation nor  trouble  of  any  sort  whatever,  is 
the  probablest  tiling  that  could  be  thought  of. 

Whether  this  happened  or  not,  certain  it 
is  thai  a  more  cheerful  aspect  took  posses- 
sion of  the  sick  man's  features.  He  seemed, 
by  some  effort  of  his  will,  to  lift  his  mind 
from  the  earth,  and,  extricating  it  from  the 
fearful  wreck  which  death  had  made  of  his 
affections,  elevate  it  on  tliose  proud  aspira- 
tions which  had  so  often  borne  it  out  of  sight 
of  base  earthly  things.  Then  it  was  that  the 
fluttering  insect  rose  from  its  flowery  resting- 
place  beside  the  casement,  and  soared  into 
the  air,  rising  gradually  before  the  sick 
man's  eyes,  till  it  had  gone  out  of  sight,  as 
though  aiming  at  the  very  highest  heaven. 

Wliilst  pondering  on  this  apparent  prom- 
ise. Master  Shakspeare  vv'as  aware  of  a  door 
opening,  and  with  a  step  so  soft,  she  seemed 
to  be  treading  on  the  very  air,  and  a  look 
of  deep  interest,  that  gave  but  another  gentle 
touch  to  the  gentle  expression  of  her  beauty, 
Susanna  entered  the  chamber.  At  the  first 
glimpse  he  had  of  her  he  recognized  the 
graceful  form  that  had  been  wont  to  pre- 
sent itself  in  so  many  affectionate  ways  to 
jiis  bewildered  senses,  but  he  could  not  have 
known  the  admirable  attentive  nurse  she  had 
been. 

It  was  marvellous  to  behold  the  exceeding 
care  with  which  the  fond  girl  had  watched 
over  her  parent  throughout  his  terrible  mal- 
ady ;  of  a  truth,  he  owed  his  recovery  to  her 
patient  and  unceasing  regard  of  him.  A 
conviction  of  such  an  obligation  entered 
his  mind  as  she  carefully  approached  the 
bed,  and  with  it  came  the  consoling  thought, 
so  much  love  would  go  far  to  replace  the 
monstrous  loss  he  had  sustained. 


As  she  took  note  of  the  improvement  so 
visible  in  her  patient's  appearance,  she 
smiled  in  such  sort  as  plainly  proved  how 
greatly  it  was  to  her  contentation.  The 
father  unclosed  his  eyes — which  he  had  shut 
at  his  child's  approach — and  the  affectionate 
joy  that  shone  so  brightly  in  her  sweet  coun- 
tenance had  so  powerful  an  effect  on  him, 
that  he  presently  threw  his  arms  round  her, 
and  pressed  her  in  a  fond  embrace.  Al- 
though Susanna  was  somewhat  taken  by' 
surprise,  the  endearing  expressions  she  heard 
soon  assured  her,  and  she  speedily  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  those  deli- 
cious moments. 

To  be  loved  was  all  her  gentle  nature  de- 
sired, but  had  hitherto  desired  in  vain.  Her 
mother's  affection  was  fixed  exclusively 
upon  her  sister.  Judith  appeared  to  love 
no  one,  not  even  her  too  indulgent  mother. 
Hamnet's  whole  soul  was  engrossed  by  his 
books,  and  her  father,  though  always  kind, 
seemed  to  have  no  affection  to  spare  out  of 
the  heap  he  lavished  on  her  brother.  Fail- 
ing in  these  quarters,  she  had  strove  hard  to 
endear  herself  to  Talbot,  but  the  heart  of 
the  noble  hound  was  so  entirely  that  of  his 
playfellow,  that  she  found  her  exertions  to 
win  him  to  herself  were  fruitless.  Disap- 
pointed though  she  was  in  her  desires,  it 
made  not  the  slightest  change  in  her  dispo- 
sition ;  whilst  every  one  seemed  cold  and 
careless  to  her,  she  was  gentle  and  kind  to  all. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  imagined,  that  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  received  the  ca- 
resses of  her  fatlier  was  of  as  perfect  a  sort 
as  ever  existed.  She  had  not  dared  to  hope 
to  be  made  so  happy.  Indeed,  she  had  al- 
most despaired  in  her  pursuit,  knowing  how 
little  was  to  be  expected  from  her  mother  and 
sister,  and  believing  her  father's  affections 
to  be  buried  in  the  coffin  of  his  beloved 
Hamnet.  But  the  conversation  by  which 
the  well-pleased  parent  now  skilfully  brought 
out  his  daughter's  disposition,  assured  her,  by 
the  commendation  of  her  it  elicited,  that  there 
was  at  least  one  heart  in  the  world  whose 
love  she  might  obtain. 

After  this  he  mended  fast,  and  bid  fair  to 
be  a  whole  man  again  speedily ;  which,  to 
be  sure,  was  in  a  great  measure  owing  to 
the  loving  care  and  heedfulness  of  his 
daughter  Susanna — the  only  one  in  the 
house  who  troubled  herself  about  him  in 
any  way  worthy  of  notice.  To  be  sure, 
her  mother  did,  at  times,  pay  him  some  at- 
tentions, and  Judith  would  stay  with  him 
awhile  when  there  was  no  great  temptation 
to  entice  her  away ;  but  to  a  heart  such  as 
his,  affection  of  this  sort  gave  him  anything 
but  satisfaction. 


62 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


It  was  about  a  week  or  so  after  tliis  col- 
loquy, that  three  old  dames,  cacli  equally 
short  of  stature  and  stout  of  flesh,  witli 
visages  alike  in  the  marvellous  tieryness 
that  shone  in  them,  like  so  many  yulekigs  in 
a  blaze,  and  a  similar  showiness  in  their 
several  apparellintj,  sat  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
cottage  at  Shottery,  as  though  they  had  just 
come  in,  and  were  intent  on  resting  them- 
selves ailer  a  walk.  These  were  near  rela- 
tives of  Master  Shakspeare's  wife ;  three 
sisters,  somwhat  notorious  for  causing  strife 
wherever  they  went. 

Susanna  was  making  bread  at  a  goodly 
sized  dough-trough  on  one  side  of  the 
chamber,  standing  on  a  stool  the  while,  and 
her  mother  and  sister  were  tiring  of  them- 
selves as  though  about  going  on  a  journey. 
But  though  the  old  dames  were  resting  their 
limbs,  their  tongues  got  no  rest,  I  promise 
you  ;  nay,  it  more  than  once  chanced,  they 
all  talked  together,  and  so  fast  withal,  it 
looked  as  though  they  Jiad  each  got  so  much 
to  say.  Aunt  Prateapace  in  especial,  and  so 
little  time  to  give  it  utterance,  all  must  needs 
out  at  once.  In  this  chorus  they  were,  ever 
and  anon,  joined  by  the  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, Susanna  alone  holding  her  peace ;  and 
she,  too,  continuing  her  labors  apparently 
as  little  regarded  of  the  rest  as  though  she 
were  a  good  thousand  miles  away. 

"  By  my  halidom,  Anne,  an  I  had  a  hus- 
band, I'd  see  him  hanged  ere  I  would  be 
plagued  by  his  humors  !"  said  she  in  the 
•yellow  bodice  with  a  crimson  kirtle,  tossino- 
up  her  pincushion  nose  in  a  monstrous  dis- 
dainful manner,  as  though  she  had  smelt 
carrion.  "  A  tine  thing,  truly,  for  a  poor 
woman  to  be  the  slave  of  every  tyrannical 
tearing  fellow  it  may  be  her  ill  hap  to  have 
married  !  It  is  lit  a  wife  should  have  her 
recreations  and  her  pleasures,  and  have  ever 
about  her  those  who  are  her  true  friends 
and  gossips,  and  engage  in  all  manner  of 
sports  and  revels  she  can  get  to ;  and  in  no 
case  is  it  jjroper  for  her  to  be  kept  to  her 
home  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  making  herself  a 
worthless,  pitifid,  poor  drudge  from  day  to 
day,  and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  All 
saints'  days  and  holidays,  and  all  manner  of 
festivals  and  merrymakings,  she  ought  to 
enjoy  to  her  heart's  content ;  and,  if  any 
pragmatical,  peremptory  husband  sought  to 
prevent  it,  she  should  value  him  no  more 
than  a  cracked  flea — that's  mi]  thinking," 
and  the  old  dame  laid  an  emphasis  on  her 
last  words,  slapped  her  closed  tist  against 
her  open  palm,  and,  looking  as  fierce  as  a 
ferret,  turned  short  round  on  her  stool  to- 
wards her  associates,  as  though  there  could 
be  no  appeal  to  so  famous  an  argument. 


"  Truly,  Aunt  Gadabout,  we  poor  women 
are  hardly  used,"  observed  the  still  fair  Anne, 
eyeing  her  comely  features  com))lacently  in 
a  small  mirror  she  held  in  her  hand — an  ob- 
servation they  had  heard  from  her  when  on 
the  same  subject  any  time  this  dozen  years. 
"  Hardly  used,  quotha  !"  mumbled  ano- 
ther, as,  with  her  hands  resting  on  her  knees, 
and  her  body  bending  forward  on  the  settle 
where  she  sat,  she  shook  her  head,  as 
though  it  was  took  with  a  sudden  ague. 
"  Had  Peter  Prateapace  ventured  on  such 
unbearableness,  I'd  a  used  him,  i'  faith  !" 

"  Now  it  should  be  known  that  the  said 
Peter,  whilst  he  was  in  tli^;  flesh,  would  as 
soon  have  ventured  on  taking  on  himself  the 
very  slightest  appearance  of  a  husband,  as 
of  claiming  kin  with  the  Pope.  It  so 
chanced,  however,  that  once  having  grown 
valiant  by  sitting  over-late  at  his  cups,  with 
a  noted  scorner  of  scolds  and  termagant 
shrews,  he  came  home,  and  dared  to  bid  his 
wife  bring  him  a  pot  of  small  ale,  and,  on 
her  refusing,  bade  her  go  hang  for  a  jade. 
The  next  morning,  on  his  coming  to  his  so- 
ber senses,  the  consequences  looked  so  terri- 
ble, he  went  and  incontinently  drowned  him- 
self in  the  mill-stream. 

"  Hardly  used,  quotha  !"  she  continued, 
in  the  same  triumphant  strain.  "  Lord  war- 
rant us  I  an  all  women  had  my  will,  Anne, 
they  should  follow  their  own  humors  with 
such  infinite  perfectness,  they  should  have 
nothing  to  wish  for  in  that  matter,  and  snap 
their  fingers  on  all  men  whatsoever.  B\  'r 
lady  !  methinks  'tis  a  good  thing  for  wives 
to  be  held  in  subjection  of  their  husbands — 
to  be  thwarted,  and  vexed,  and  put  upon  as 
though  they  were  fit  for  nought  but  to  bear 
fardels  enough  to  break  their  backs,  whilst, 
forsooth,  their  precious  helpmates  are  to  look 
on  and  find  fault.  Were  the  best  man  that 
ever  wore  a  head  to  attempt  ordering  of  me, 
or  interfering  with  my  pleasures,  ere  he  were 
a  day,  an  hour,  a  minute  older,  an  his  i'ace 
were  not  as  well  scratched  as  tliongh  it 
had  been  thrust  through  a  bramble-bush,  it 
should  be  a  marvel  indeed,  I  promise  you 
— I  warrant  he  should  be  in  no  mood  for  a 
second  attempt  of  the.  sort." 

"  But  I  have  such  an  infinite  lack  of  spir- 
its," added  Anne, "  and  am  so  weak  and  fear- 
ful withal,  such  violent  courses  would  only 
succeed  in  doing  me  a  mischief." 

"  Alack,  poor  lamb  !"  cried  tiie  other,  in  a 
commiserating  mood.  "  But  this  is  the 
real  grounds  of  it  all.  Were  she  not  of  such 
poor  health,  she  would  be  more  kindly  used, 
but  he  taketh  advantage  of  her  weakness  to 
treat  her  scurvily.  I  never  could  affect  the 
fellow.     He  was  ever  a  proud,  bombastical. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


63 


fustian  knave.  I  protest  I  liked  him  not  from 
the  first  hour  I  saw  him  ;  and,  since  he  hath 
been  a  player — save  the  mark — he  hath  be- 
come so  intolerable  fantastical  and  indiffer- 
ent, and  putteth  on  himself  so  monstrous 
nice  a  behavior,  and  so  smooth  a  discourse, 
I  would  as  lief  lie  in  a  butter-woman's  bas- 
ket as  within  earshot  of  him." 

Susanna  heard  this  disparagement  of  one 
whom  her  young  heart  regarded  as  the  kind- 
est and  best  of  human  beings,  with  pain  ; — 
but  she  said  never  a  word,  continuing  knead- 
ing of  the  dough  as  though  she  had  no  in- 
terest in  the  discourse — even  her  mother 
seemed  to  like  not  such  plain  speaking. 

"  Nay,  Aunt  Breedbate,  you  do  him 
wrong,"  she  said,  "  I  have  seen  no  such  be- 
havior in  him." 

"  Ah,  child  !  I  warrant  me  there  is  a  good 
deal  thou  hast  not  seen  of  his  goings  on,"  re- 
plied the  old  dame,  with  an  air  of  exceeding 
mystery.  "  Wished  I  to  speak,  I  could  say 
something  on  that  matter  marvellously  to 
the  purpose  ;  but  I  am  not  like  to  cause  mis- 
chief betwixt  man  and  wife.  To  be  sure,  it 
is  said,  '  What  God  hath  joined  let  no  man 
put  asunder,'  which  hath  no  allusion  of  any 
sort  to  women,  so  they  may  be  left  to  do  as 
they  please  in  it.  Nevertheless,  I  am  so 
great  an  enemy  to  evil  speaking,  I  hate  any 
one  who  cannot  keep  what  they  know  of  ano- 
ther's ill  deeds  to  themselves.  Monstrous 
mischiefs  have  come  of  the  idle  employment 
of  slanderous  tongues,  and  the  fair  fame  of 
the  best  are  at  the  mercy  of  such.  For  mine 
ov.'n  part,  ere  I  would  take  to  speaking  ill 
of  any  one,  albeit,  though  he  were  as  vil- 
lanous  as  a  Jew,  and  there  should  be  no 
other  subject  for  speech,  I  would  be  dumb 
for  a  week.  Therefore,  the  horrible  wick- 
edness your  notable  fine  husband  has  fallen 
into  must  go  untold  forme." 

"  What  horrible  wickedness  hath  he  done. 
Aunt?"  inquired  Anne,  in  a  tone  of  alarm. 
"  Prythee,  let  me  know  it.  Nay,  I  will  not 
stir  a  step  till  I  have  heard  it  all." 

"  'Tis  but  sailor's  news,  child,"  observed 
Aunt  Gadabout,  consolingly.  "  Knewest 
thou  men  as  truly  as  do  I,  thou  wouldst 
marvel  at  no  news  of  this  sort,  were  it  ever 
so  black.  There  is  no  treachery  they  will 
not  act  to  the  spoiling  of  us  poor  women — 
there  is  no  injury  they  will  not  do  against 
us.  One  and  all,  they  are  a  vile,  abomina- 
ble, uncivil,  abandoned  set  of  profligate  mon- 
sters and  wretches — that's  my  thinking,'' 
and  again  the  old  woman  twisted  herself 
half  round  her  seat  with  a  slap  against  her 
palm,  and  a  look  that  conveyed  in  it  her  con- 
viction that  what  she  had  stated  there  could 
be  no  gainsaying. 


"  But  I  must  and  will  know  what  he  hath 
done  amiss,"  exclaimed  Anne,  determinedly 
— a  mood  by  no  means  unusual  to  her. 

"  What  matters  it  ?"  cried  the  relict  of 
Peter  Prateapace,  as  she  again  poked  her 
body  forward,  and  commenced  shaking  of 
her  head  with  an  air  of  wondrous  meaning. 
"  Be  assured,  Anne,  that  there  never  yet  was 
any  thing  done  by  our  precious  partners 
worth  a  woman  troubling  her  head  about.  I 
warrant  you  they  know  better  than  to  be 
doing  of  any  mischief.  Marry,  an  any  such 
essayed  to  play  his  tricks  upon  me,  I  would 
so  maul  him  he  should  not  know  whether  he 
stood  on  his  head  or  his  heels  for  the  rest  of 
his  days." 

"  A  plague  on  you  all !"  cried  Anne,  .ve- 
hemently. "  Tell  me,  on  the  instant,  what 
hath  been  done,  or  I  will  have  no  more  to 
say  to  either  of  you  from  this  hour."  There- 
upon in  her  passion  she  tore  her  dress,  after 
several  idle  attempts  to  make  it  please  her. 
Susanna  still  continued  intent  on  her  bread- 
making,  but  she  was  terribly  ill  at  ease. 

"  Well,  if  I  am  so  commanded,  I  cannot 
get  off  saying  it,"  observed  Aunt  Breedbate, 
with  a  look  of  as  absolute  indifterency  as 
ever  was  seen.  "  But  it  nnist  on  no  account 
be  bruited  that  you  had  your  intelligence 
from  me,  for  I  would  not  have  it  thought  I 
could  speak  ill  of  any  one  for  mines  of  wealth. 
Though  I  like  him  so  little,  I  should  be  loath 
to  set  you  against  him.  For  my  own  part," 
she  added,  with  a  marked  emphasis,  "  /hate 
meddling  and  mischief-making." 

"  Marry,  yes,  and  so  do  other  folk.  Sister 
Breedbate,  quite  as  much,"  observed  Aunt 
Prateapace,  rather  sharply. 

"  Sister  Prateapace,"  exclaimed  the  other, 
evidently  taking  some  offence  at  the  inter- 
ruption, and  regarding  the  interrupter  with  a 
monstrous  severe  look. 

"  Ay,  I  maintain  it !"  cried  Sister  Prate- 
apace, so  little  abashed  as  to  meet  the  gaze 
with  one  of  a  like  severity.  "  /  hate  med- 
dling— perchance,  a  wondrous  deal  more 
than  they  who  are  ever  a  boasting  of  their 
misiiking  it,  and  yet  all  their  lives  long  are 
in  the  constant  humor  of  meddling." 

"  Why,  thou  slanderous  jade  thou,  how 
darest  thou  affirm  I  am  in  a  constant  humor 
of  meddling  ?"  screamed  Sister  Breedbate, 
her  red  face  turning  purple.  Here  seemed 
a  great  hkelihood  of  quarrelling  betwixt  the 
two  sisters  ;  nevertheless,  no  one  interfered. 
In  truth,  these  squabbles  were  such  every- 
day matters  betwixt  these  two,  that  had  they 
met  without  disputing,  it  would  have  been 
accounted  a  marvel. 

"  Prythee  hold  thy  peace.  Sister  Pratea- 
pace !"  said  Aunt  Gadabout,  turning  round 


64 


THE  SECRET  PASkSION. 


towards  her,  with  a  sour  visage.  "  Thou  art 
ever  making  words."  Sister  (Jadabout, 
whenever  tiiese  squabbles  took  place,  was 
famous  for  sitting  still,  and  ever  and  anon 
saying  something  to  one  or  other,  which  add- 
ed exceedingly  to  the  existing  ill  feeling  be- 
twixt them.  Mayhap,  this  was  as  pleasing 
to  her  as  was  the  constant  quarrelling  agree- 
able to  the  other  two ;  for,  it  cannot  be  ima- 
gined, they  would  take  so  much  trouble  to 
find  a  cause  of  strife,  preferred  they  a  more 
peaceable  living.  "  I  know  not,  in  this 
world,"  continued  she,  "  one  of  so  cursed  a 
temper." 

"  Cursed  enough,  truly  !"  added  Aunt 
Breedbate.  "  Heaven  preserve  me  from 
such  shrewishness,  say  I !" 

"  So  said  Goodman  Breedbate  a  week 
after  his  marriage,  when  he  could  no  longer 
abide  the  horrible  misery  he  had  fallen 
into,"  replied  Aunt  Prateapace,  with  a  fa- 
miliar nod  of  her  head  to  her  angry  sister. 
"  Doubtless,  since  his  precious  helpmate 
drove  him  away  from  his  home,  by  her  intol- 
erably violent  tongue — forty  year  come  Lam- 
mas— he  hath  had  no  inclination  to  return, 
and  have  more  of  it.  Truly,  he  hatli  had  a 
blessed  escape !" 

"  Blessed  escape,  quotha !"  cried  the  other, 
scarce  able  to  speak,  she  was  in  so  deadly  a 
rage.  "  Methinks  thou  hast  had  a  blessed 
escape  of  the  hangman.  It  is  not  all  wives 
who  push  their  husbands  into  mill-streams, 
who  are  so  fortunate." 

"  I  marvel,  Sister  Breedbate,  thou  shouldst 
utter  so  horrible  a  slander,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Gadabout,  turning  as  sharply  to  her  as  she 
had  a  minute  since,  to  the  other.  "  Of 
all  villanous  traducers,  thou  art  surely  the 
worst." 

"  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  the 
widow  of  Peter  Prateapace,  as  coolly  as  you 
please.  "  But  as  it  is  in  her  nature,  it  can- 
not well  be  helped.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
greatly  to  be  lamented  she  should  be  so  in- 
tent on  mischief  as  to  injure  her  nearest  of 
kin,  rather  than  refrain  from  evil  speaking. 
If  she  must  needs  have  some  villany  to  talk 
of,  I  doubt  not  she  would  hnd  enough  for 
her  complete  contentation  in  certain  scanda- 
lous proceedings  that  took  place,  I  know  not 
how  many  years  since,  wherein  one  Barna- 
by  Rackstraw,  a  club-footed  thatcher,  of  no 
great  repute,  from  Wilmington,  was  en- 
gaged with  a  notable  shrew,  well  known  in 
these  parts,  who  drove  her  husband  from  liis 
home,  and " 

"  Why,  thou  horrible  malefactor,  thou  !" 
screamed  the  other,  jumping  off  her  seat  as 
though  bitten  sharply  by  some  hungry  cur, 
and  shaking  her  clenched  fist  so  furiously,  it 


seemed  like  to  loosen  her  knuckles  for  the 
next  mouth  to  come.  '■  Dost  dare  to  say 
such  monstrous  things  of  me.  Had  I  been 
as  fiimiliar  with  Barnaby  Rackstraw  as 
wert  thou  with  Ephraim  Clods,  the  one- 
eyed  delver " 

"  Ephraim  Clods  !"  observed  her  sister, 
like  one  who  is  striving  to  recollect  some- 
thing. ''  Ah  !  I  remember  me.  The  poor 
man  hath  been  dead  this  thirty  year.  A 
worthy  soul  and  an  honest.  He  liked  a 
race  of  ginger  in  his  ale  as  well  as  ere  a 
man  in  Warwickshire,  and  was  smothered 
by  the  falling  of  the  earth  when  he  was  dig- 
ging a  well  for  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  at  the 
New  Place.     What  of  him,  good  sister  ?" 

"  What  of  him  !"  cried  Aunt  Breedbate, 
getting  more  passionate  from  observing  the 
other's  composedness.  "  What,  is  it  not 
notorious " 

"  His  one  eye  ?"  inquired  Aunt  Pratea- 
pace. "  r  faith,  yes.  It  was  almost  as 
much  talked  of  as  a  certain  club-foot  after 
it  had  been  seen  in  the  grey  of  the  morn- 
ing  " 

What  further  scandal  might  have  been 
said  cannot  now  with  any  accurateness  be 
ascertained,  for  a  stop  was  suddenly  put  to 
this  sharp  speech,  and  to  the  sharp  reply 
which  it  was  easy  to  see  was  on  the  point 
of  breaking  forth,  by  the  opening  of  the 
door,  and  the  appearance  there  of  a  noble- 
looking,  soldier-like  gentleman,  very  bravely 
apparelled.  He  seemed  to  have  passed  the 
best  of  his  years — his  hair  and  beard  being 
plentifully  sprinkled  with  those  tokens  of  age 
to  which  the  rich  are  subject  equally  with 
the  poor.  Nevertheless,  his  eyes  had  a  mer- 
ry, wanton  twinkle  in  them,  which,  with  the 
careless  expression  of  his  tine  mouth,  and 
somewhat  prominent  nose,  showed  such  to- 
kens gave  him  no  manner  of  uneasiness. — 
His  visage  was  of  a  fresh,  sanguine  com- 
plexion, and  wrinkled  somewhat — but  of  all 
doubt  belonging  more  to  the  court-gallant 
than  to  the  country  gentleman — the  which 
looked  more  apparent  when  the  obser\'er  re- 
garded his  goodly  hat  and  feather,  with  a 
jewel  set  in  it  of  the  last  fashion  ;  his  hand- 
some doublet,  and  rich  satin  trunks,  with 
other  bravery  of  a  like  sort,  not  forgetting 
the  very  soldier- like  quality  of  his  rapier  and 
dagger. 

In  his  company  was  a  fair  youth,  of  some 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years,  nearly  as  tall  as 
he,  and  quite  as  bravely  clad.  Nevertheless, 
though  so  young,  his  look  lacked  the  bash- 
fulness  and  ingenuousness  which  are  wont 
to  be  seen  in  a  youthful  face. 

"  With  your  leave,  mistress  !"  cried  the 
elder,  very  gallantly,  as  he  stepped  up  to 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


66 


Anne,  then  fully  equipped  for  her  journey, 
and  gave  her  a  rifjht  courtly  salute. 

"  With  your  leave,  mistress  !"  cried  the 
younger,  quite  as  gallantly  stepping  up  to 
Susanna,  and  favoring  her  in  a  like  man- 
ner. 

"  By  Ovid,  mistress,  thy  lips  are  very  su- 
gar !"'  exclaimed  the  old  gallant,  in  a  seem- 
ing passionate  manner. 

"  Worthy  Sir  George,  I  am  much  hounden 
to  you,"  respectfully  replied  Anne,  with  her 
best  courtesy.  Thereupon  the  knight  pro- 
ceeded, with  the  same  courteous  manner,  to 
salute  her  three  aunts,  who  were  standing 
up,  all  smiles  and  courtesies,  striving  as 
hard  as  they  might  to  look  as  innocent  as  so 
many  lambkins :  and,  at  the  compliments  Sir 
George  uttered,  dropping  a  courtesy  to  the 
ground,  and  each,  as  simple  as  a  maid,  spoke 
her  thanks. 

"  By  mine  own  captive  heart,  mistress, 
there  is  no  honey  like  to  those  most  ravish- 
ing sweet  lips  !"  exclaimed  the  young  gal- 
lant. The  gentle  Susanna,  however,  took 
not  her  salute  as  quietly  as  did  her  mother. 
Her  face  and  neck  were  pre.sently  the  hue 
of  the  rosiest  flower  eye  ever  beheld  ;  and, 
instead  of  acknowledging  the  compliment  in 
some  simple  maidenly  phrase,  she  stood  as 
if  ready  to  sink  intotiie  ground  with  shame- 
fulness,  and  fixed  her  beautiful,  fair  eyes  on 
her  taper  fingers  as  though  the  flour  vv'hich 
clung  to  them  was  some  villanous  thing  or 
another  that  might  witness  against  her  very 
disparagingly. 

"  What,  Cousin  Hugh  ! — art  planet- 
struck  ?"  cried  Sir  George,  slapping  the 
youth  on  the  back,  as  he  approached  the 
abashed  maiden,  doubtless  with  the  intent 
of  behaving  to  her  in  the  same  courtly  fa- 
shion as  he  had  used  to  the  others.  "  I'  faith, 
but  methinks  thou  hast  good  cause  for  it," 
added  he,  gazing  on  her  blushing  beauties 
with  no  less  admiration  than  had  his  young 
cousin ;  then,  addressing  her  with  more 
show  of  sincerity  than  he  had  employed  to- 
wards the  others,  he  continued,  "  I  pray  you 
suffer  an  old  soldier,  who  liath  just  returned 
from  a  long  and  arduous  service  amongst 
barbarous  Irish  kerns  and  gallow-glas.ses,  as 
a  fit  recompense  for  all  the  dangers  he  hath 
passed,  to  taste  so  tempting  a  cate  as  that 
most  delicate  rosy  mouth."  Thereupon  the 
knight  drew  Susanna  towards  him,  and, 
stooping  down  as  he  took  oti  his  jewelled 
hat,  saluted  her  with  as  great  an  air  of  re- 
spect as  she  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  so- 
vereign prince. 

"  And  who  is  this  tercel  gentle  ?"  inquired 
Sir  George. 

"  An  it  please  you,  Sir  George,  she  is  no 


other   than   mine   own   daughter,"    replied 
Anne. 

"  What,  a  child  of  my  excellent  worthy 
friend  Will  ?"'  asked  he,  turning  to  her  again 
with  a  pleased  astonishm.cnt. 

"  Indeed  is  she,  an  it  please  your  lord- 
sliip's  goodness,"  said  Aunt  Pratcapace, 
bustling  forward  with  some  officiousness  ; 
"  which  cannot  be  gainsayed  of  any  man, 
gentle  or  simple,  seeing  they  be  as  like  as 
are  two  peas  in  the  same  pod." 

"  He  must  needs  be  a  marvellous  happy 
man,"  observed  the  knight. 

"  Ay,  that  is  he,  I'll  be  bound,"  here  put 
in  Aunt  Gadabout  with  some  eagerness. — 
"  Your  honorable  worship  doth  not  know  tlie 
happiness  he  hath.  F  faith,  he  shall  be  as 
happy  as  a  sand-boy,  an  it  will  be  your  wor- 
ship's desire." 

"  Truly,  my  good  dame,"  answered  Sir 
George,  "  if  he  be  as  happy  as  he  deserves 
to  be,  he  can  have  nothing  to  wish  for." 

"Lord  warrant  us,  there  is  a  notable 
sweet  saying  now  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Breed- 
bate,  her  harsh  features  subdued  as  nearly 
into  an  expression  of  cheerfulness  as  was 
possible.  "  I  would  the  worthy  man  were 
here,  to  hear  your  honor's  estimation  of 
him." 

"  Tell  me  where  he  is,  I  prythec,  for  I 
must  needs  have  speech  with  him,"  said  the 
knight. 

"Judith  !'"  cried  Anne  to  her  younger 
daughter,  who  stood  at  her  side,  striving  in 
vain  to  court  the  notice  of  either  of  the  gal- 
lants, "  shov/  those  noble  gentlemen  to  the 
orchard,  where  your  father  is." 

But  Juditli  seemed  not  inclined  to  do  any 
thing  of  the  sort.  Indeed,  fancying  herself 
to  have  been  neglected,  she  immediately  de- 
termined not  to  stir  a  step.  She  was  again 
requested  by  her  mother,  but  seem.ed  as 
though  she  heard  it  not,  for  she  kept  making 
folds  in  her  dress,  as  though  that  should  be 
her  only  employment. 

"  Nay,  an  it  be  your  good  pleasure,  dame," 
said  Sir  George,  observing  tiie  child's  reluc- 
tance, "  let  our  guide  be  our  sweet  acquaint- 
ance here." 

"An  it  please  you,  noble  sir,"  murmured 
Susanna,  who  had  recovered  somewhat  of 
her  confidence,  and  was  desirous  her  sister 
should  be  noticed,  "  my  sister  Judith  will 
willingly  fulfil  your  honorable  wishes." — 
She  had,  however,  scarce  uttered  the  words, 
when  the  spoiled  child  no  less  rudely  than 
briefly,  put  a  negative  on  her  assertion.  Su- 
sanna then,  to  take  off"  all  attention  from 
such  uncivilness,  at  once  led  the  way  out 
of  tlie  house,  and,  opening  the  wicket  of  the 
orchard,  pointed  to  a  figure  seated  reading 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


beneath  i  treo  at  some  distance,  and  with  a 
humble  yet  eTaeofiil  courtosj',  returned  to 
put  her  bread  into  the  oven. 

The  two  gallants  procrded  quickly  to- 
wards the  tre3,  and  there  assuredly  was 
Master  Shakspeare,  and  there  also  at  his 
feet  was  Talbot,  each  apparently,  in  the 
other's  society,  forgetful  of  the  great  loss 
they  had  sustained.  Both  rose  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  strangers,  with  a  manner  as 
though,  in  their  secret  hearts,  they  took 
their  cominrf  as  an  unseasonable  interrup- 
tion to  their  meditations,  the  poor  hound  re- 
tiring backward  a  littlr;  as  though  he  was  in 
no  mood  jjr  any  familiarities  :  a  touching 
coi-itrast  to  the  chc^erful  manner  with  which 
he  was  ever  wont  to  welcome  any  of  his  mas- 
ter's frietvls. 

"  Sir  George  Curew  !"  exclaimed  Master 
Shakspear?,  his  pallid  features  brightening 
under  the  influence  of  the  most  cheerful  of 
smiles,  as  he  seized  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  out  far  him,  and  shook  it  very 
heartily. 

"  And  your  fast  friend,  he  assured.  Will," 
said  Sir  (ieorgo,  witit  a  famous  sincerity  ; 
"and  here  is  cousin  Cloj;)ton,  who  is  going 
with  me  to  court,  and,  if  it  please  her  maj- 
esty, he  shall  smell  powder  anon — that  is, 
if  he  hath  stomach  for  fighting,  and  liketh 
his  kinsman  for  his  commander." 

"  I  am  assured  Master  Clopton  will  do 
credit  to  his  ancestors,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  courteously  ;  "  and,  with  so 
notabl'  an  example  before  him  for  all  the 
qualities  of  good  soldiershij),  as  he  hath  in 
Sir  George  Carew,  his  career  in  arms  must 
needs  be  a  glorious  one." 

"  That  is  kindly  said.  Will,"  replied  the 
knight,  "  and  kindly  meant,  I  will  wager  my 
life  for  it,  else  it  would  not  have  been  spoken 
by  so  generous  a  spirit  as  Will  Shakspeare. 
But  cousin  Clopton  must  to  the  wars,  and 
endeavor  witli  his  sword  to  gain  what  divers 
of  his  famdy  have  lost.  Hero  hath  'the 
New  Place'  been  sold  that  hath  belonged  to 
them  .since  old  Sir  Hugh  built  it  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  the  Seventh,  all  for  the  lack  of  a 
little  pestilent  coin.  There  is  strange  news 
at  court,  Will,"  added  Sir  George,  taking 
Master  Shakspeare  by  the  arm,  and  walk- 
inor  with  him  apart.  "  My  Lord  South- 
ampton  " 

"  What  of  him?"  eagerly  cried  the  other. 
"  He  hath  been  so  rash  as  to  wed  Mis- 
tress Varnon,  despite  lier  Highness's  com- 
mands to  the  contrary." 

"  Well  ?"    said  I\Idster  Shakspeare,  im- 
patiently. 

"And  the  Q,ueen  in  great  wrath  hath 
lodged  them  both  in  the  Tower.    I  fear  me 


neither  will  escape  easily,  for  it  is  said  she 
IS  more  furious  against  tliem  than  was  she 
with  Raleigh  ibr  a  like  ollence.  I  grieve 
for  the  sweet  lady  he  hath  chosen,  and  I 
grieve  for  him  also,  for  in  truth  I  liked  him 
well." 

"  He  had  a  heart.  Sir  George,  as  noble  as 
his  name  !"  cried  his  companion  with  a  deep 
earnestness.  , 

"  Ay,  that  he  had,  I  am  assured.  And  he 
was  a  true  friend  to  you.  Will,  for  I  have 
oft  heard  him  speak  of  you,  as  though  no 
other  man  was  so  well  esteemed  of  him." 

"  He  had  a  most  princely  disposition,  and 
ever  acted  towards  me  no  less  worthily  than 
he  spoke,"  said  his  friend. 

'•  Well !  I  wish  him  well  out  of  his  pres- 
ent lodging !" 

'•  Auien,  Sir  George,  with  all  my  heart!" 

"  There  is  the  most  singular  business 
connected  with  this  marriage  that  ever  was 
heard  of,"  added  the  knight,  in  a  livelier 
tone.  "  It  is  said  my  lord  could  not  have 
succeeded  in  his  measures,  had  he  not  got 
important  assistance  from  a  certain  master 
of  music,  who — mark  the  exquisite  policy 
of  it.  Will — got  admittance  to  the  house  of 
the  lady's  kinswoman — as  ancient  a  piece 
of  goods  as  ever  was  met  with  ;  and,  what 
think  you  ?  by  this  hand,  he  brought  my 
lord  with  him,  and  by  means  of  some  dis- 
guise passed  him  off  as  his  boy  ;  and,  to 
keep  the  old  gentlewoman's  attention  from 
the  lovers,  did  pursue  a  suit  of  his  own  to 
her  with  such  vehemency,  that  speedily  she 
had  neither  eyes,  heart,  nor  tongue,  for 
any  but  the  master  of  music.  She  hath 
made  such  bitter  complaints  to  the  Queen 
of  the  jest  that  hath  been  played  her,  that 
her  Highness  became  in  a  towering  passion, 
and  issued  orders  for  his  instant  apprehen- 
sion— vowing  he  should  smart  for  it ;  but 
the  wonder  of  it  is,  search  hath  been  made 
throughout  the  kingdom  with  a  most  minute 
description  of  this  Master  Dulcimer's  per- 
son, manners,  and  dress,  and  there  hath 
been  no  such  a  musician  seen  or  heard  of." 

Master  Shakspeare  had  a  great  to  do  to 
maintain  the  unconcern  and  gravity  of  his 
aspect,  during  this  speech.  At  last  he  mas- 
tered his  inclination  for  mirth,  and  quietly 
inquired  if  those  who  had  been  in  search 
of  the  master  of  music  had  found  trace  of 
him. 

"  None,  and  the  mystery  is  such,  it  hath 
been  shrewdly  hinted,  my  lord  hath  had  re- 
course to  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  the 
ancient  damsel  is  now  frightening  herself 
out  of  her  seven  senses  with  the  horrible 
apprehension  she  hath  been  enamored  of  the 
devil." 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


67 


At  this  Master  Shakspeare  could  contain 
himself  no  longer,  but  he  b«rst  out  into  as 
hearty  a  laugh  as  ever  was  heard,  in  thj 
which  Sir  George  Carew  joined  in  as  per- 
fect an  abandonment,  and  they  too  contin- 
ued for  some  time  longer  making  light  ot 
Aunt  Deborah's  passion.  Nevertheless,  one 
was  more  concerned  than  he  appeared,  for 
the  news  of  Lord  Southampton's  imprison- 
ment in  the  Tower,  with  the  exquisite  sweet 
creature  he  had  married,  was  exceeding  ill 
news  to  him,  and  lie  scarce  heard  of  it,  ere 
he  fell  to  considering  the  best  means  for  se- 
curing his  liberation. 

The  penalties  he  had  already  drawn  up- 
on himself  in  seeking  to  secure  his  friend's 
happiness,  he  thought  not  of  for  a  moment. 
He  remembered  only  tlie  prodigal  kindness 
with  which  tliat  friend  had  regarded  him, 
when  such  behavior  was  of  the  liighest  con- 
sequence to  the  advancement  of  iiis  fortunes, 
and  that  the  generous  spirit  to  whom  he 
was  so  indebted  was  chafing  within  the  mis- 
erable compass  of  four  stone  walls. 

All  this  time  Master  Clopton  was  striving 
earnestly  to  be  on  good  acquaintance  with 
Talbot,  but  for  a  long  space  his  commenda- 
tions and  pattings  were  little  heeded.  In- 
deed, as  though  the  poor  beast  wanted  no 
such  company,  ho  more  than  once  removed 
himself  from  the  young  Squire's  neighbor- 
hood ;  but  the  latter  would  by  no  means  be 
so  easily  kept  at  a  distance,  for  he  liked  the 
noble  appearance  of  tlie  dog.  Talbot  had 
too  good  a  heart  to  resist  long  any  seeming 
kindness  where  he  suspected  no  ill,  and  at 
last  the  "Ho  Talbot!"  "Brave  Talbot!" 
-  was  listened  to  with  the  wave  of  the  tail 
which  denoteth  satisfaction  in  such  animals, 
and  a  little  while  after  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  handled  with  more  familiarity  than 
he  would  previously  have  suffered.  In  the 
end,  the  two  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  toler- 
able understanding. 

After  Sir  George  Carew  had — for  he 
would  take  no  denial — made  Master  Shaks- 
peare promise  to  join  a  few  I'riends  on  a  cer- 
tain day,  who  were  coining  to  eat  venison 
with  him  at  Clopton  Hall,  ere  he  returned 
to  the  wars,  they  walked  leisurely  to  the 
house,  young  Clopton  and  Talbot  following 
at  a  little  distance.  They  were  in  he  gar- 
den, when  they  were  suddenly  stopped  by 
hearing  through  an  open  casement  close  to 
which  they  had  approached,  a  musically 
sweet  voice  carolling  the  following  ditty. 

THE  BEGUILING  OF  THE  BIRD. 

''What  ho,  silly  wanton!  why  woulJ'st  thou 
away. 
With  thy  feathers  so  glossy  and  fine  ? 


Here  are  cates  of  the  best,  come  and  taste  them 
I  pray. 
Come  enjoy  tins  brave  feast  whilst  'tis  thine." 
So  spoke  a  bold  fowler — (in  sooth  a  fair  speech) 

His  nets  the  while  spreading  with  care  ; 
But  the  bird  'mongst  the  branches  kept  out  of 
his  reach. 
And  would  not  be  caught  in  the  snare. 

"  Ah  me,  what  a  carol  !"  he  cunningly  said, 

As  her  throat  gave  its  tones  sweet  and  clear. 
"  Oh,  I  would,  uiiitchless  singer,  thou  wert  not 
afraid. 

Half  thy  skill  now  escapeth  mine  ear." 
Well  pleased  with  his  praises,  now  closer  she 
drew. 

Her  song  in  his  hearing  to  get ; 
As  he  flattered,  still  nearer  and  nearer  she  flew. 

And,  lo  !  was  enclosed  in  the  net !" 

Sir  George  peeped  through  the  casement. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  chamber  bat  Su- 
sanna. She  was  left  alone  as  usual,  whilst 
her  aunts  and  her  mother  and  sister  were 
gone  a-pleasuring  and  there  was  she  solac- 
ing herself  at  her  spinning-wheel  with  a 
spirit  as  blithe  as  her  voice  was  melodious. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Eche  is  not  lettred  that  nowe  is  made  a  lorde. 

Nor  eche  a  clerke  that  hath  a  benefice  : 
They  are  not  all  lawyers  that  plees  do  recorde, 
All  that  are  promoted  are  not  fully  wise, 
Ou  suche  chaunce   now  fortune  throws  her 
dice. 

Barklay's  Ship  of  Fools. 

Oh  !  sister  An,  what  dremes 
Be  these  that  me  tormente  !     Thus  afraide. 
What  new  come  geSt  unto  our  realme  ys  come  ! 
Surrey's  Virgil. 

"  Launcelot  !"  bawled  a  sharp  voice,  in 
as  loud  a  pitch  as  ever  angry  woman  used. 
No  reply  followed.  "  Launce,  I  say  !  ihou 
lazy  varlet,"  continued  she,  lowering  of  her 
key  not  a  jot.  '■  Here  it  be  five  o'clock,  and 
thou  abed.  An  thou  art  not  a  stirring  in  a 
presently,  I'll  cudgel  thee  within  an  inch  of 
thy  life!" 

"  Coming,  mistress  !"  replied  a  boy,  rais- 
ing himself  on  his  elbow  from  a  heap  of 
rushes  and  shavings  in  the  corner  of  an 
upper  chamber  in  the  roof  of  the  house, 
lighted  only  by  a  small  window.  The  coarse 
coverlet  that  fell  from  his  shoulders  disclos- 
ed to  view  the  same  fat,  foolish  visage,  that 
was  made  known  to  the  reader  in  the  open- 
ing chapter  of  this  volume,  as  belonging  to 
,  a  boy  known  throughout  Stratford  as  Rag- 


68 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ged  Launco.  His  moutli  now  was  extend- 
ing itself  in  a  yawn  which  threatened  to 
maiie  tlie  little  no.so  above  it — the  point 
whereof,  by  nature,  liad  a  singular  inclina- 
tion upwards — dissolve  into  tlie  chubby  red 
cheeks,  that  with  no  pnrticular  show  of 
cleanliness  pressed  against  it  on  either  side. 
An  arm,  wrapped  in  a  shirt  sleeve,  no  less 
soiled  than  ragged,  was  about  the  same  time 
drawn  out,  and  the  hand  commenced  scratch- 
ing, with  a  lazy  motion,  a  head,  evidently 
unused  to  otiier  comb  or  brush  than  the 
owner  had  store  of  at  liis  fingers'  ends. 

There  was  scarce  light  sufficient  to  dis- 
tinguish the  candle-end  stuck  in  a  bottle 
that  was  upon  an  old  box,  the  ballads  against 
the  wall,  or  the  rude  drawings,  with  a  bit 
of  charcoal,  that  covered  every  side  of  the 
room,  whereof  the  principal  seemed  to  be 
that  of  a  woman  in  divers  ridiculous  atti- 
tudes, and  undesirable  situations.  Never- 
theless, besides  these,  a  few  articles  of 
wearing-apparel  lay  in  disorder  upon  the 
floor,  with  a  goodly  commodity  of  nut-shells, 
apple-cores,  cherry-stones,  small  bones,  bits 
of  crust,  cheese  -  parings,  and  the  like, 
doubtless  the  remnants  of  sundry  feasts 
gone  by,  which  the  sole  inhabitant  of  the 
chamber  had  enjoyed  in  solitary  contenta- 
tion. 

Launce  still  reclined  on  his  elbow,  in  a 
state  half  asleep  and  half  awake.  Yawn 
followed  yawn  with  little  intermission;  and 
the  scratching  of  the  head  was  only  occa- 
sionally varied  by  a  slight  rubbing  of  the 
knuckles  against  the  eyes,  or  a  stretching 
out  of  the  arm  to  its  full  extent.  In  short, 
he  went  through  all  the  manoeuvres  of  one 
who  hath  been  disturbed  in  his  slumber  ere 
he  hath  had  enough  of  it,  and  is  marvelous- 
ly  inclined  to  obtain  the  deficiency.  In  the 
last  yawn,  his  elbow  slipped  from  under 
him,  and  iiis  head  quietly  dropped  upon  it ; 
the  outstretched  arm  sunk  at  his  side,  and 
in  a  moment  he  was  in  as  deep  a  sleep  as 
tired  apprentice  ever  had. 

Mayiiap  he  was  dreaming  of  some  good 
sport  with  his  fellows,  in  a  holiday  stroll 
to  Pimlico  Path,  or  a  famous  pennyworth 
for  his  own  pnrticular  delectation  all  among 
the  pleasant  fields  of  Islington.  Yet  it  mat- 
tered not  of  what  his  dream  might  be,  for  he 
was  scarce  well  into  it  when  he  was  dis- 
turbed with  so  main  a  cry  that  he  jumped 
clean  out  of  the  coverlet,  to  the  manifest 
disclosure  of  certain  lower  garments  of 
coarse  texture,  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
of  the  which  he  had  not  taken  the  trouble 
to  divest  himself  when  seeking  of  his  proper 
rest  the  previous  night. 

"  Launce  !    Launce  !    thou  lazy   catiff ! 


I'll  rouse  thee,  I  warrant  me,  ere  thou  art  a 
minute  older.'Jfc 

"  I  be  tiring  myself,  mistress,  and  shall  be 
down  straight,  and  it  please  you,"  replied 
the  boy,  in  a  mild,  deprecating  kind  of  voice, 
as  he  left  off  awhile  scratching,  and  rub- 
bing, and  stretching  of  himself — ever  and 
anon  giving  a  slight  shiver,  as  though  he 
were  none  of  the  hottest,  to  twitch  up  his 
darned  hose  and  patched  breeches,  bearing 
witness  of  many  a  soil  and  much  hard  ser- 
vice. 

"  I'll  tire  thee,  by  the  rood  !"  exclaimed 
the  same  female  who  had  spoken  before. 
"  Did  I  not  tell  thee  over-night  to  be  up  be- 
times, because  of  my  desiring  to  go  with 
my  worthy  neighbors  to  see  the  Queen's 
Highness  enter  the  city  returning  from  a 
progress,  and,  as  I'm  an  honest  woman,  this 
is  the  lifth  time  thou  hast  played  me  the 
sluggard's  trick  since  my  first  calling.  But 
an  I  be  tricked  any  more  in  this  sort,  I'll 
give  my  head  to  play  at  bowls  with." 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  I  be  puttintj 
on  my  jerkin  !"  cried  the  apprentice,  with  a 
very  monstrous  earnestness,  as  he  caught 
up  that  part  of  his  apparel  from  the  floor, 
and  proceeded  to  put  his  arms  through  the 
sleeves  with  sometliing  more  of  wakeful- 
ness than  he  had  shown  heretofore.  Whilst 
so  employed,  he  seemed  to  listen  attentively. 
Apparently  all  was  quiet  in  the  lower 
chamber,  for  he  slackened  considerably  in 
his  hurry  of  apparelling  himself,  and  the 
earnestness  of  his  features  gave  place  to  a 
roguish  impudency  and  boyish  cunning. 

"  The  old  liawk  sticks  to  her  perch  !"  mut- 
tered he,  with  a  grin  of  exquisite  self-con- 
gratulation. "  Rateth  as  she  may,  she  liketh 
no  more  leaving  her  roost  thus  early,  of  a 
pestilent  raw  morning,  than  do  I." 

Saying  this,  he  sauntered  leisurely  tow- 
ards the  small  window  that  looked  out  into 
the  street,  whicli  he  opened  carefully  ;  then, 
suddenly  spying  of  a  boy,  who  looked  to  be 
about  his  own  age,  on  the  opposite  side, 
leaning  on  his  arms  on  the  window-sill, 
over-against  him,  watching  a  couple  of  cats 
on  a  neighboring  roof,  he  snatched  up  one 
of  tiie  sundry  rotten  apples  that  lay  together 
on  the  box,  and  flung  it  with  all  his  force 
at  the  boy's  head  ;  doubtless  the  aim  was  a. 
true  one,  for  the  varlet,  with  a  half-audible 
ciuickle,  hastily  crouched  down,  so  as  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  him  he  had  thrown  at,  and 
there  for  a  second  or  two  remained,  striving 
hard  to  repress  a  violent  burst  of  mischiev- 
ous laughter. 

Presently  he  raised  himself  slowly,  as  if 
with  a  view  of  reconnoitering  the  position 
of  the  assailed  party  ;  but,  to  all  appearance, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


69 


the  latter  was  familiar  with  his  mode  of 
warfare,  and  was  right  willing  to  return  the 
attack,  for  Launce  had  scarce  got  his  shag- 
gy pole  over  the  base  of  the  open  casement, 
when  an  old  cabbage-stump  catne  whizzing 
over  it,  with  a  force  which,  had  it  been  less 
hastily  discharged,  might,  thick  as  it  was, 
have  done  it  no  slight  damageinent. 

"  O'  my  hfe,  well  thrown,  Martin  !"  cried 
Launce,  with  a  taunting  sort  of  laugh,  the 
which  the  other  could  hear  well  enough. 
"  Wounds  !  an  I  were  a  Shrovetide  cock,  1 
would  pray  right  heartily  for  such  thorough 
aimstraights." 

"  I  would  tliou  wert !"  replied  the  oppo- 
site boy.  "  But  cock,  or  no  cock,  here's  at 
thy  cocks-comb  !"  and,  ere  Launce  was  well 
aware,  a  missile  of  the  like  sort  as  was 
thrown  at  him  awhile  since  camo  against 
his  luckless  pole  with  such  force,  that  he 
was  fain  to  cry  out  from  the  smart.  A  loud 
clear  laugh,  across  the  street,  was  all  he  got 
for  his  hurt  in  the  way  ofsyuipathy. 

"  Cock-a-doodle-do  !"  screamed  the  merry 
knave,  like  a  very  chanticleer,  exulting  at 
the  manner  he  had  answered  the  other's 
sarcasm.  "  Body  o'  me,  but  thou  makesl  a 
brave  cock,  Launce.  Prythee  wait  till  I 
can  get  me  another  stump,  and  I  will  knock 
thee  off  thy  legs  so  prettily  thou  shalt  fancy 
nought  ever  after  but  turning  of  such  deli- 
cate summersets." 

"  Slifc,  and  I  do  not  pay  thee  for  that, 
call  me  a  pickled  hedgehog  !"  replied  Laimcc 
in  some  rage,  putting  his  hand  tenderly  to 
the  bruised  part: — "here  be  a  lump  com- 
ing, of  I  know  not  what,  size;  but  let  me 
catch  thee  ;  I'll  warrant  thou  shalt  have  as 
famous  a  drubbing " 

"  Dost  talk  of  drubbing,  thou  worthless 
varlet !"  exclaimed  a  voice  close  to  him, 
that  make  him  quake  from  head  to  foot.  A 
woman,  apparently  of  a  goodly  size,  but  so 
wrapped  in  a  huge  cloak  thrown  over  her 
petticoat,  her  figure  could  not  fairly  be  told, 
and  wearing  so  vinegar  an  aspect  withal, 
it  might  have  done  monstrous  good  service 
in  the  way  of  pickling,  was  at  his  elbow. 

"DoHtt;ilk  of  drubbing!"  she  continued; 
"  I'll  drub  thee,  i'  faith  !"  and  thereujjon  be- 
gan raining  down  upon  Launce's  devoted 
head,  with  all  the  vigor  of  her  brawny  arm, 
such  abundant  store  of  blows,  as  might  have 
sufficed  a  flagellating  friar  for  a  whole  year. 
He  roared  most  lustily  ;  no  town-bull  could 
have  done  so  more  to  the  life  ;  but  the  of- 
fended Tabitha  heeded  his  cries  and  suppli- 
cations no  more  than  a  cat  heeds  the  srpieak- 
ing  of  a  mouse  she  is  about  to  make  her  re- 

p3.St  of. 

"  Have  I  not  been  bawling  myself  hoarse 


for  thee  these  two  hours  !"  said  she  to  him 
in  a  manner  that  could  not  be  gainsayed. 
'■  Did  I  not  tell  t!iee  over-night  to  be  sure  to 
be  stirring  betimes,  for  that  I  was  bent  on 
going  to  witness  the  goodly  pageants  that 
are  to  be  seen  to-day  in  honor  of  our  admi- 
rable sweet  fjueen  ? — and,  instead  of  getting 
the  shop  swept  and  dusted,  and  the  house 
opened,  and  the  tire  lit  in  the  kitchen,  and 
all  things  made  ready  for  what  company 
may  come,  thou  art  at  thy  old  tricks,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee  !  Get  thee  to  tliy  work  on 
the  instant !  Well  deservest  thou  the  name 
thou  art  known  by.  Thou  art  Lazy  Launce, 
with  a  vengeance.  But  I'll  have  no  idle 
'prentices.  An  I  catch  thee  at  these  pranks 
again,  it  shall  go  worse  with  thee,  I'll  war- 
rant. Troop,  sirrah,  whilst  thou  hast  a 
whole  skin,  for  my  fingers  do  itch  to  be  at 
thee." 

Launce  had  vainly  essayed,  with  a  mar- 
vellous prodigality  of  writhings  and  twist- 
ings,  to  get  free  of  his  mistress's  powerful 
grasp,  wliilst  she  was  displaying  so  much 
at  his  expense  her  eloquence  and  vigor  ; 
and,  so  soon  as  he  found  her  hold  relax,  he 
bounded  out  of  her  reach,  and  fled  down  the 
narrow  stairs  with  the  speed  of  a  liberated 
rat.  But  he  had  not  got  so  easily  quit  of 
her  as  he  imagined.  Ere  he  had  reached 
the  kitchen,  which  was  a  long  irregular 
chamber,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  serv- 
ed for  the  general  eating-room,  he  heard 
her  voice  bawling  to  him  to  return.  This 
he  did  with  some  misgiving,  and  an  infinite 
lack  of  speed,  for  there  was  that  in  its  tones 
which  seemed  to  bode  him  no  good. 

"  Prythee  how  come  these  figures  here?" 
asked  she,  with  a  look  that  appeared  to  the 
unhappy  Launce  to  threaten  killing  by 
inches.  His  mistress  pointed  to  a  ridicu- 
lous etHgy  of  herself  carried  pick-a'back  on 
a  personage,  who,  by  his  horns  and  tail,  was 
evidently  intended  to  represent  tlie  arch  en- 
emy of  mankind  ;  whilst  anotlier  demon  of 
the  like  sort  was  preparing  to  thrust  a  ])itch- 
forlc  into  her  flesh,  in  the  part  of  it  that 
looked  to  offer  the  firmest  hold.  A  little 
further  on  was  the  same  female  figure  hang- 
ing on  a  gallows,  whilst  a  whole  circle  of 
devils  were  portrayed  fantastically  dancing 
just  beneath  her.  Above  was  written,  in 
large  uneven  letters  of  the  strangest  shape 
eye  ever  met  with  :— 
"  With  thy  dog's  nose  and  pig's  eyes, 
The  devil  hath  got  a  notable,  prize  ; 
Thou'rt  a  jade  that's  ever  a  bawliug  and  bang- 
ing. 
And  I  warrant  thon'lt  be  none  the  worse  for  a 
good  hanging." 

In  another  place,  a  monstrous  cat  was 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


(irawTi,  seemingly  at  death's  door,  and  un- 
derneath these  lines  were  writ : — 

"  The  shabby, 
Scabby. 
Flabby-dabby, 

old 
Tabby  ;" 

the  last  word  in  lartrer  characters  than  the 
others,  and  doubtless  meant  to  be  the  fa- 
miliar abbreviation  of  the  good  Tabitha's 
name. 

"  How  came  these  villanous  figures 
here  ?"  repeated  she,  in  a  louder  key,  to  her 
trembling  ajjprenticc. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  I  know  not !" 
replied  JLaunce,  looking  the  very  picture  of 
viituous  astonishment  and  indignation. 

"  Thou  abominable  young  villain,  thou...!" 
exclaimed  the  enraged  woman,  grasping 
with  one  hand  the  long  hair  of  her  appren- 
tice, whilst  in  the  other  she  held  a  stick  she 
h;id  snatched  from  a  corner,  the  which  she 
lust  no  time  in  putting  across  his  shoulders 
with  a  right  good  will  in  every  stroke.  Her 
tongue,  too,  was  excellently  well  exercised 
the  whilst. 

"  Dost  thou  dare  write  such  horrid  libels 
of  me,  tliy  too  indulgent  mistress  !  Have  I 
a  dog's  nose,  catiff ?  answer  me  that.  Have 
I  pig's  eyes,  tliou  perjured  reprobate ! 
Wouldst  thou  have  me  hanged,  forsooth  ! 
I'll  shabby  thee  !  I'll  scabby  thee  !  I'll 
flabby-dabby  thee  with  a  vengeance  !  An  I 
leave  an  inch  of  thy  pestilent  skin  innocent 
of  the  cudgel,  I'll  give  thee  leave  to  carry 
on  thy  scurvy  jests  till  doomsday  !" 

As  every  sentence  here  put  down  was 
ended  with  a  blow,  the  only  answer  Mistress 
Tabitha  got  of  her  questions  came  to  her  in 
the  pitifulest  cries  cudgelled  apprentice  ever 
attempted,  and  doubtless  she  might  have 
continued  her  punishment  and  her  speech 
for  some  time  longer,  had  not  he,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  her  letting  go  his  hair  to  obtain 
a  hold  on  the  collar  of  his  ierkin,  rushed 
from  her,  yelling  most  piteously,  at  a  pace 
that  left  no  chance  of  her  coming  up  to  him 
again  very  readily. 

Leaving  this  good  dame  to  digest  as 
well  as  she  might  the  affront  she  had  re- 
ceived from  Launce's  revenge  of  her  form- 
er savagcness  to  him,  we  shall  follow  him 
to  the  kitchen,  where,  smarting  from  the 
fury  of  her  disci])line,  he  was  diligently  es- 
saying to  strike  a  light,  but,  in  consequence 
of  his  tears,  whereof  there  was  a  plentiful 
snpplv,  falling  into  the  tinder,  ho  knocked 
his  knuckl'is  with  small  profit. 

In  this  strait,  cursing  heartily  all  ter- 
magant mistresses,  and  sparks  that   went 


out  as  soon  as  they  showed  themselves, 
he  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  ey(>s,  took  a 
candle  in  his  hand,  and,  opening  a  door 
right  against  him,  proceeded  into  a  narrow 
yard,  having  a  paling  on  each  side  so  much 
broke  as  to  admit  easily  of  his  jiassing  over 
it.  This  he  did  ;  and,  entering  at  a  wicket 
belonging  to  the  ne.xt  house,  he  found  him- 
self among  some  half-dozen  slovenly  men 
and  boys,  sitting  cross-legged  on  a  huge 
table,  where  many  lights  were  a  burning, 
stitching  away  upon  divers  garments  before 
them  with  a  most  commendable  speed. 

Scarce  had  he  shown  himself,  ere  Launce 
was  hailed  by  all  present  as  a  familiar  and 
perchance  a  welcome  acquaintance;  none 
failing  to  attempt  a  meny  jest  at  his  ex- 
pense. Launce  lit  his  candle,  as  though  he 
was  so  crest-fallen  of  his  late  beating  he 
had  not  a  word  to  throw  away  on  a  dog, 
nay  not  even  on  a  tailor  ;  but,  as  he  was  on 
the  eve  of  departing,  he  slowly  pushed  the 
hot  iron,  with  which  one  had  that  moment 
been  flattening  the  seams  of  a  doublet, 
against  the  bare  toe  peeping  out  of  the  rag- 
ged hose  of  him  who  seemed  to  possess  a 
greater  commodity  of  jokes  than  the  others  ; 
and,  as  he — screaming  with  the  greatness 
of  the  pain — started  back  with  a  force 
which  laid  his  neighbor  on  his  back,  and  put 
all  his  fellows  into  a  sudden  terror,  the  boy, 
w\ih  aloud  laugh,  whisked  out  of  the  cham- 
ber, jumped  over  the  paling,  and  was  soon 
engaged  upon  his  duties  in  the  kitchen,  as 
light  of  heart,  from  the  remembrance  of  the 
trick  he  had  played  Toby  Snipkin,  as  if  he 
knew  not  what  a  beating  meant. 

It  should  here  be  made  known  to  the  cour- 
teous reader,  that  Mistress  Tabitha  Thatch- 
pole  carried  on  the  art  of  a  capper,  in  a  goodly 
tenement  situated  in  Golden  Lane,  Barbi- 
can ;  the  which  excellent  calling  her  father, 
honest  Barnabas  Thatclipole,  had  pursued 
in  good  repute  till  his  death,  leaving  it,  and 
all  the  profits  thereunto  appertaining,  to  his 
beloved  daughter  and  sole  heiress,  the  esti- 
mable Mistre.-^s  Tabitha  Thatclipole  afore- 
said. How  it  came  to  pass,  that,  with  so 
tempting  an  addition  as  this  trade  in  caps,  to 
a  visage  and  person  by  no  means  of  the 
ordinary  sort — the  former  having  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  that  of  a  sand-boy's 
horse,  and  the  latter  l)eing  built  much  af- 
ter the  fashion  of  a  coal-barge — the  name 
of  Tabitha  Thatclipole  sliould  have  clung 
to  her  even  after  her  lease  of  it  had  been 
protracted  beyond  half  a  century,  re- 
niaineth  the  most  incomprehensible  of  mys- 
teries. Certain  is  it,  she  had  strove  all  that 
a  poor  woman  could  to  alter  this  imdosira- 
ble  state  of  things.     She  first  sought  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


71 


young,  who  would  have  none  of  her  ;  then 
aspired  to  the  middle-aged,  who  gave  her 
as  little  comfort ;  and  now  very  mightily 
affected  the  old,  with  a  des^perateness,  the 
exceeding  desperate  nature  of  the  case 
seemed  to  give  her  excellent  warrant  for. 

She  was  a  great  furtherer  of  all  manner 
of  merry  moetings,  both  at  her  own  house 
and  those  of  her  neighbors,  in  which  her  os- 
tensible object  was  to  bring  young  people  to- 
gether, in  whose  happiness  she  professed  a 
marvellous  interest.  When  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  her  female  friends  conve- 
niently disix)sed  of,  she  would,  with  an  ami- 
ableness  to  which  no  pen  can  do  justice,  sit 
herself  by  the  side  of  any  respectable  grey- 
beard widower  or  bachelor — it  mattered  not 
v/hich,  so  easily  pleased  was  she — who 
happened  to  be  amongst  the  company,  and 
dilate  on  mutual  affection  and  the  union  of 
appropriate  ages,  in  a  strain  that  ought  to 
have  subdued  the  most  callous  and  indiffer- 
ent old  heart  that  ever  throbbed  under  a 
comfortable  jerkin. 

Launce  had  been  sent  from  Stratford,  by 
Tommy  Hart,  to  his  kinswoman,  Tabitha 
Thatchpole,  of  London,  at  her  earnest  so- 
licitation to  have  some  such  a  boy  as  he  was 
to  assist  her  in  her  business.  To  prevent  his 
quitting  her,  as  some  had  done  with  exceed- 
ing brief  warning,  she  lost  no  time  in  hav- 
ing him  bound  apprentice;  and  here,  in 
Golden  Lane,  Barbican,  w^as  Lannce  fixed, 
under  the  tender  mercies  of  the  fair  Tabi- 
tha, ostensibly  to  learn  the  art  and  mystery 
of  a  capper,  but,  in  fact,  to  do  all  things, 
from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  bottom,  and 
get  nought  for  his  pains  but  blows'  and 
abuse. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  fellowship  of  a 
few  merry  knaves  in  the  neighborhood, 
about  his  own  age,  with  w'hom  he  was  as 
often  at  loggeriieads  as  in  sworn  brother- 
hood, it  is  hugely  to  he  doubted  if  his  in- 
dentures would  have  held  him  in  Golden 
Lane  for  a  day. 

It  must  now  be  supposed  that  he  made  an 
ample  fire  in  the  kitchen — a  chamber,  floor- 
ed with  red  brick,  which  formed,  save  on 
grand  occasions,  the  usual  sitting-room — 
and  in  this  duty  he  had  so  long  lingered 
that  Mistress  Tabitha  came  nigh  upon 
catching  him  lying  his  length  on  one  of  the 
settles  that  stood  on  each  side  of  the  ample 
chimney  corner,  forgetful  of  all  else  but  the 
comfortableness  of  his  situation.  The  hear- 
ing of  her  foot  on  the  stair,  however,  roused 
him  as  eflfijctually  as  might  a  cannon  fired 
close  to  his  ear;  and,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  he  was  as  busy  as  a  bee  sweeping 
out  the  front  chamber. 


Here  she  presently  entered,  scolding  and 
cuffing  him  for  not  tinding  things  there  ex- 
actly to  her  mind.  Tliis  was  out  of  its 
place,  that  was  carelessly  put  by,  and  the 
other  ought  to  have  gone  to  a  customer; 
then,  some  fine  cap  or  another  had  been  in- 
jured by  his  utter  carelesness ;  and  she  had 
lost  the  sale  of  others  by  his  placing  them, 
to  keep  them  free  of  moth  and  dust,  where 
they  were  never  to  be  got  at. 

'•Launce!"  cried  she,  sharply,  having 
completed  her  arrangements  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Anon,  mistress,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  What  said  tiiat  worthy  Master  Doctor 
Posset  to  my  message  of  last  niglit '?" 

''  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  he  said 
nought." 

"  How  so,  fellow  ?" 

"  For  this  most  especial  reason : — lie  was 
attending  a  candlemaker's  wife  in  Bread 
Street,  and  could  have  no  note  of  your  mes- 
sage, mistress."  A  sharp  box  on  the  ear 
followed  this  speech. 

"  Wilt  never  have  done  with  thy  fool's 
answers,  thou  miserable  dolt,  thou  !  But 
tiiou  had  speech  of  his  admirable  daughter, 
Mistress  Millicent?" 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  I  had,"  re- 
plied Launce,  rubbing  his  ear  with  some 
vigor.  "  That  is  to  say,  when  it  pleased 
her  to  have  done  a  swounding,  ibr  when  I  got 
me  into  Master  Doctor's  chamber,  tliere  I 
found  IMistress  MilHcent  on  the  ground, 
supported  by  a  strange  young  fallow,  look- 
ing as  solemn  as  the  queen  of  Sheba,  done 
in  worsted,  that  is  up  stairs  in  the  blue 
chamber." 

"  Master  John  Hall,  perchance.  But 
were  they  alone  ?" 

"  No,  mistress.  There  was  the  physician's 
man  there,  too." 

"  Physician's  man.  fellow !"  exclaimed  Ta- 
bitha, aiming  another  blow  at  him,  which 
he  avoided  by  ducking  his  head  ;  an  ac- 
comjilishment  in  which  practice  had  made 
him  so  proficient,  he  rarely  failed  of  escap- 
ing the  intended  blow.  '•  "Physician's  man  ! 
Canst  not  say  Master  Leonard  ?"  Then, 
in  a  lower  tone,  continued,  "  Doubtless,  he 
was  greatly  concerned  at  the  sad  plight  of 
one  to  whom  he  hath  been  so  long  betrothed. 
Was  no  other  present  ?" 

"  Yes,  mistress,  there  was  the  stuffed  al- 
ligator hanging  from  the  top  of  the  chamber, 
and  the  kitten,  with  five  legs,  that  was  in  a 
bottle  on  a  shelf." 

"  Out,  fool  !"  cried  his  mistress,  aiming 
her  customary  salute  with  no  more  profit 
than  before.  Thou  art  the  most  incorrigible 
ass  ever  honest  woman  was  troubled  with. 
But  what  followed  .'" 


72 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"  Followed,  mistro«s  V'  repeated  Laiince, 
scratchinnf  his  head  in  some  perplexity. 
'•  (3'  iny  life,  [  saw  nn  (ollowing  of  any  one 
for  they  all  stood  wliere  they  were." 

"  Knave,  dolt,  idiot !"  exclaimed  Mistress 
Tabitha,  her  remarkable  yellow  complexion 
potting  suddenly  en]iiirpled  with  rage,  as 
slie  sought  to  inflict  a  proper  chastisement 
on  her  apprentice.  "  What  said  they  to 
you  ?  Tell  me  on  the  instant,  or  I  will  beat 
thee  to  a  shaving." 

"  An  it  please  yon,  mistress,  they  said 
liiit  little,  till  Mistress  Millicent  recovered 
herself  from  her  swound,  when  they  ques- 
tioned me  as  to  my  errand  to  the  doctor; 
tlie  which  having  "told,  Mistress  Millicent 
presently  spoke  in  a  monstrous  small  voice, 
and  said  Master  Doctor  should  come  with- 
out fail,  and  there  should  be  in  his  company 
herself  and  a  young  acquaintance,  whom 
mcthinks  she  called  Mildred,  with  Master 
John  Hall  and  Master  Leonard  Supple." 

"  Good  ;  and  you  went  to  Martin  Poins, 
tlie  spurrier  ?" 

"  I  did,  an  it  please  yon,  mistress ;  and 
he  said  he  would  come  the  instant  after 
morning  prayers." 

"  Ah,  good,  e;:ccllent  man  !  A  most  ad- 
mirable, worthy  christian.  And  what  said 
Simon  Peltry,  the  leather-seller  ?" 

"  In  troth,  mistress,"  replied  the  boy,  de- 
spite of  the  fear  in  which  he  stood  before 
his  mistress,  a  smile  of  roguish  meaning 
breaking  over  his  grimy  cheeks,  "  he  was 
i!i  no  case  for  tiie  saying  of  any  great  mat- 
ter, seeing  that  I  found  iiim  at  the  Peacock, 
so  overcome  with  the  drinking  of  new  ale, 
that  he  was  as  blind  as  a  bat,  as  deaf  as  a 
beetle,  and  as  mute  as  an  owl ;  and  when  I 
roused  him  to  hear  of  your  message,  he  re- 
]ilied,  unconnected,  and  confusedly,  in  praise 
of  sobriety,  adding,  the  fiddlers  must  needs 
pr;iy  for  your  death  riglit  heartily,  for  they 
would  then  be  like  to  get  such  exquisite 
tougli  catgut  as  tliey  hitd  never  seen  all 
their  lives  before." 

"  A  merry  knave,  i'  faith  !"  exclaimed  the 
ratlicr  antiquated  damsel,  who  could  find 
toleration  for  the  faults  of  every  man  who 
afforded  her  the  slightest  prospect  of  a  hus- 
band. "  He  must  needs  liave  his  jest.  And 
how  sped  you  witii  Roger  Chinks,  the 
lantern-makef  ?" 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  with  no  great 
profit.  Cliinks  v/as  hard  at  work  among  his 
men,  and  received  your  message  as  though 
it  were  a  huge  alTront.  He  might  or  he 
might  not  come.  He  cared  not.  An  it 
suited  him,  he  would  ;  and  the  like." 

"  As  honest  a  heart  as  ever  broke  bread  '."' 


cried  Mistress  Tabitha.  "  And  what  said 
Master  Galliard  ?" 

"  The  old  Frenchman  fellow,  an  it  please 
you  ?" 

"  The  French  gentleman,  sirrah,"  replied 
tlie  other,  sharply. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  I  took  him  to 
be  a  right  Tom  o'  Bedlam,  for  I  found  him 
playing  of  all  sorts  of  antics  in  Bessy 
Marshmallow,  the  simple  woman's  upper 
chamber.  He  was  twisting,  and  turning, 
and  curvetting,  and  capering,  worse  than  an 
u.nbroke  colt ;  and  his  toe  kept  pointing  to 
all  quarters  of  the  wind,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  great  vane  on  the  top  of  our  church." 

"  But  what  said  he  to  my  message  ?" 

"  A  long  speech,  and  a  flowery,  but  in 
such  outlandish  phrases,  I  had  to  cudgel  my 
brains  pretty  soundly  ere  I  could  get  so  much 
as  a  glimpse  at  the  sense  of  it.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  breast  of  his  doublet,  and  made 
a  leg  to  me  as  though  I  was  the  Emperor  of 
the  Indies.  This  I  let  pass,  but  he  presently 
fell  to  calling  you  mad-dam,  which  I  taking 
to  be  some  reflection  on  you  it  did  not  be- 
come me  to  be  a  listening  to,  up  and  told 
him  I'd  punch  his  head  if  he  called  my 
mistress  any  such  names,  for  she  wasn't  a 
bit  of  a  '  mad-dam,'  not  she,  and  he  was  a 
scur\-y  rogue,  and  lied  in  his  pestilent  throat. 
On  this,  the  villain  had  the  horrible  impu- 
dency  to  say  something  about  a  pardonnez 
moi,  the  which  was,  I  doubt  not,  a  more 
gross  offence  than  t'other,  so  I  would  r.o 
longer  stand  to  be  so  put  upon,  and  straight- 
way gave  him  so  sore  a  clout  on  the  chaps 
it  sent  him  spinning  to  the  other  side  of  the 
chamber  ;  whereupon  he  out  with  his  toast- 
ing-iron, and  would  have  skewered  me 
against  the  wall,  like  a  pickled  heiring  left 
to  dry,  had  I  not  shown  liini  a  fair  pair  of 
heels,  ere  he  had  got  it  fairly  out  of  its  scab- 
bard." 

In  making  this  relation,  Launce  had  some 
hojies  of  being  rewarded  for  the  great  zeal 
he  had  shewn  in  his  mistress's  defence. 
What  then  must  have  been  his  astonishment 
when  of  a  sudden  a  shower  of  blows  came 
on  his  defenceless  head,  which  all  his  skill 
in  taking  care  of  put  at  nought — she  the 
wliilst  rating  him  for  his  rudeness  and 
bearishness  in  such  terms  of  vehemency  as 
went  night  to  take  her  breath  away  ! 

The  hapless  apprentice  vanished  from 
her  presence  as  quickly  as  he  might,  vowing 
from  his  heart  the  pestilent  Frenchman 
might  call  the  old  Tabby  whatsoever  dis- 
reputable name  he  chose,  without  his  ever 
attemjiting  to  wag  a  finger  in  her  defence. 

He  returned  to  the  front  chamber,  where 


THE  SECRET  PASSION, 


73 


he  occupied  himself  very  busily  in  putting 
his  mistress's  wares  in  tlie  most  tempting 
array.  It  bad  a  broad  casement,  looking 
into  the  street,  made  up  of  small  diamond 
panes,  through  which  the  passenger,  if  he 
chose  to  peer  with  any  greatdegree  of  curios- 
ness,  might  note  a  vast  display  of  caps  and 
hats  of  all  fashions,  from  the  statute  cap  of 
the  humble  artisan,  to  the  goodly  copthank 
beaver  of  the  gay  gallant.  On  shelves,  on 
one  side,  were  placed  rows  of  bo.xes,  and 
upright  against  he  wainscoting,  was  fixed 
a  long  mirror,  in  a  carved  frame,  on  which 
Mistress  Tabitha  set  great  store.  A  large 
table,  having  a  motley  assortment  of  hats, 
caps,  feathers,  brushes,  irons,  and  blocks, 
and  two  stools,  that  seemed  to  have  seen 
good  service,  constituted  the  remainder  of 
the  furniture — save  only  Launce,  without 
whom  Tabitha  Thatchpole  might  have  kept 
the  place  empty. 

He  was  not,  however,  as  usual,  allowed 
to  b^  long  doing  of  any  thing  without  his 
mistress  coming  and  rating  him  for  not 
doing  it  to  her  liking.  Nouglit  satisfied  her 
of  his  performance,  essayed  he  ever  so. 
Nevertheless,  in  the  midst  of  her  cuffing  and 
rating,  she  on  a  sudden  changed  the  crabbed 
expression  of  her  countenance  tor  one  of 
the  absolutest  sweetness.  At  that  moment 
there  entered  a  tall,  thin,  figure,  hat  in  hand, 
which  was  pressed  against  his  breast  witii 
a  marvellous  energy,  as  he  bowed  himself 
almost  to  the  ground.  His  face  looked  to 
be  mightily  given  to  wrinkles,  but  two  rest- 
less, sharp  eyes  gave  it  a  youthfulness,  the 
greyness  of  his  beard  and  hair,  both  of 
which  were  somewhat  of  tiie  longest,  belied ; 
his  suit  had  once  been  fine,  but  it  was  now 
threadbare  and  faded,  yet  there  was  not  a 
soil  in  it  from  top  to  toe ;  the  ruff  looked 
fresh  from  the  starcher's,  and  the  shoe-roses 
were  without  a  crumple,  though  they  had 
graced  the  feet  of  the  wearer  any  time  these 
ten  years.  The  stranger  was  Monsieur 
Galliard,  of  whom  mention  has  just  been 
made. 

Mistress  Tabitha  tripped  up  to  him  with 
the  most  amiable  manner  ever  seen  ;  where- 
upon Monsieur  Galliard  seized  one  of  her 
enormous  hands,  and  pressed  it  betwixt 
both  his,  and  bowed  upon  it,  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders  with  an  appearance  of  pro- 
found devotion. 

In  sober  truth,  they  were  most  like  unto 
a  pair  of  Barbary  apes  chattering  and  gri- 
macing, than  two  human  beings.  Whilst, 
however,  they  were  completely  taken  up 
with  passing  mutual  civilities,  they  were 
suddenly  disturbed  by  a  loud,  joyous  laugh 
behind  them,  and,  turning  round,  discovered 


I  a  fellow  somewhat  coarsely  apparelled, 
standing  at  the  door  with  his  hands  on  his 
hips,  and  a  jolly  face  well  covered  with  fiery 
carbuncles,  expanding  under  the  influence 
of  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Heart  o'  me  !"  cried  he,  merrily,  "  I 
would  rather  have  lost  my  best  stroke  at 
bowls,  than  so  exquisite  moving  a  scene. 
Here's  choice  fooling — brave  fooling — deli- 
cate fooling  as  ever  was  witnessed !  If 
Will  Somers  had  been  alive,  he  could  never 
have  compassed  it." 

"  Ah,  Simon  Pellry,  Simon  Peltry  !"  ex- 
claimed Mistress  Tabitha,  "  ever  at  thy 
merry  conceits  !  Why,  what  a  man  thou 
art!" 

"  Man,  quotha !"  answered  the  leather- 
seller,  giving  the  grinning  Frenchman,  as 
he  otfered  his  salutations,  a  slap  on  the 
back  that  appeared,  for  the  moment,  to  have 
taken  his  breath  away.  "  In  troth,  I  look 
upon  myself  to  be  as  good  a  man  as  any 
tliat  never  w-as  a  better.  What  sayest,  good 
Mounseer  Spindleshanks  ? 

"  But  talking  is  dry  work,  dame,"  added 
lie.  '•  Hast  ever  a  draught  o'  small  ale  ?  for 
I  supped  last  night  of  pickled  herrings,  and, 
if  I  had  a  drop  of  honest  liquor  to  cleanse 
my  throat  of  tiie  salt,  I  am  a  Dutchman." 
This  assertion  what  Launce  had  stated  of 
him  completely  disproved  ;  therefore,  it  can 
be  in  no  way  strange  that,  on  hearing  it, 
the  apprentice,  who  was  close  at  hand, 
opened  his  eyes  with  very  absolute  amaze- 
ment. Nevertheless,  Mistress  Tabitlia  very 
courteously  bade  him  follow  her,  to  partake 
of  such  poor  cheer  as  the  house  afforded, 
the  which  welcome  bidding  tlie  thirsty 
leatherseller  gladly  accepted,  and  without 
more  words,  the  three  proceeded  in  that  di- 
rection. 

They  had  scarce  arrived  in  the  inner 
chamber,  and  were  intent  on  seating  them- 
selves comfortably  in  the  chimney-corner, 
when  voices  were  heard  approaehing,  which 
immediately  sent  away  Mistress  Tabitha  to 
welcome  the  new  comer.  One  of  these 
proved  to  be  a  truly  broad-shouldered  man, 
with  an  exceeding  dark  complexion  and 
severe  expression  of  countenance,  and  ap- 
parently of  a  middle  age,  who  was  presently 
hailed  by  the  parlies  already  arrived  as 
Roger  Chinks,  the  lantern-maker.  The 
other  wore  a  more  pleasing  look,  and  was 
attired  in  less  coarse  apparelling  ;  and  he, 
when  receiving  the  attentions  of  the  now 
superlatively  amiable  Tabitha  Thatchpole, 
appeared  to  own  the  name  of  Martin  Poins, 
the  spurrier. 

The  former  spoke  but  few  words,  and 
they  of  the  gruffest,  to  his  hostess's  oft- 


74 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


repeated  assurance  of  licr  gladness  at  the 
sight  of  liim  ;  and  the  replies  of  the  latter 
consisted,  for  the  most  part,  of  allusions  to 
the  goodness  of  Providence  in  allowing  him 
the  gratification  of  visiting  so  excellently 
disposed  an  acquaintance  as  neighbor 
Thatchpole. 

With  liim  came  a  boy,  out  of  all  doubt 
his  son,  of  about  the  tallness  of  Launce, 
though  of  far  greater  slinuiess,  and  of  more 
intelligent  features  ;  and,  whilst  the  rest  of 
company  were  completely  engaged  with 
their  gossip,  he  had  got  a  spur  in  his  hand, 
which  he  held  nigli  to  the  cheek  of  Launce, 
who,  unaware  or  his  close  neighborhood, 
was  intent  upon  trimming  of  a  hat  for  a 
customer,  and,  upon  hearing  of  his  name 
whispered  in  his  ear,  turned  suddenly  round, 
and  received  the  prickles  of  the  spur  in  his 
cheek.  Smarting  with  the  pain,  he  gave 
the  young  rogue  who  inflicted  it,  and  with  a 
laugh  was  endeavoring  at  his  best  speed  to 
get  out  of  his  reach,  a  sharp  kick  on  the 
shins,  the  which  made  him  cry  out,  and 
commence  rubbing  his  hurt  leg  with  a  most 
doleful  visage. 

Upon  Mistress  Tabitha  inquiring  what 
ailed  him,  he  very  readily  stated  that  he  had 
hit  his  leg  against  the  table  ;  the  which 
was  instantly  believed  to  be  the  truth,  for  no 
one  could  have  fancied  from  Launces'  un- 
concerned visage,  that  he  had  aught  to  do 
with  the  matter.  But  they  were  both  very 
dogs  at  such  tricks.  Martin  Poins  was  he 
who  had  flung  at  Launce  with  so  true  an 
aim  across  tlie  way  when  the  latter  was 
jibing  him  for  being  wide  of  the  mark  ;  and 
indeed,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  were  they 
slily  engaged  in  such  warfare — for  all  which 
two  such  fast  friends  never  existed.  They 
not  only  never  complained  when  one  suf- 
fered of  the  other,  contenting  themselves 
with  retaliating  at  the  flrst  opportuuity,  but 
each  would  light  for  the  other  at  a  pinch 
as  long  as  he  could  stand. 

Martin,  having  been  left  behind  when 
Tabitha  and  her  two  guests  proceeded  to 
join  the  others  in  the  kitchen,  commenced 
a  race  round  the  table  after  Launce,  which 
had  not  lasted  long  before  one  knocked 
down  a  goodly  heap  of  boxes,  which  stood 
convenient  in  a  corner.  Tabitha  Thatch- 
pole and  her  company  rushed  into  the  front 
chamber  to  see  what  was  the  matter ; 
when  Launce,  with  as  absolute  a  solemn- 
ness  as  any  judge  could  have  assumed, 
stated  that  the  mischief  had  been  done  by  a 
strange  dog,  whom  Martin  and  he  strove 
earnestly  to  send  a  packing,  and,  as  Martin, 
with  quite  as  great  a  seriousness  asserted  to 
the  same  thing,  with  sundry  additions,  in 


which  he  described  the  monstrous  ugly  pes- 
tilent beast  they  had  such  diHiculty  in  get- 
ting rid  of,  they  all  returned  to  the  cliiuniey- 
corner ;  Mistress  Tabitha  bidding  her  ap- 
prentice replace  tJie  fallen  boxes,  and,  taking 
in  her  hand  the  spurrier's  son,  whom  she 
seemed  intent  upon  making  much  of,  per- 
chance with  a  view  of  creating  in  the  mind 
of  the  portly  widower,  his  father,  an  idea 
that  she  would  make  the  very  properest  sort 
of  mother  for  him. 

Scarce,  however,  had  she  got  him  into 
the  kitchen,  when  she  again  hurried  back 
with  the  same  pleased  alacrity,  for  there  a 
group  waited,  whose  voices  she  liad  heard, 
to  whom  she  seemed  bound  by  no  ordinary 
tie.  First  she  rushed  eagerly  towards  a 
young  female  of  rather  a  commanding 
flgure,  tall,  and  somewhat  stout  of  shape, 
with  a  face,  though  it  could  not  be  ranked 
of  the  handsomest,  possessed  of  a  p'easino* 
expression,  which  peculiar  set  off  as  it  was 
with  all  possible  art,  as  was  her  person, 
gave  to  her  an  exceeding  agreeable  a])pcar- 
ance.  In  this  tempting  guise  it  was  rather 
difficult  at  flrst  to  recognize  the  damsel  that 
was  in  so  pitiable  a  state  on  Master  Doctor 
Posset's  stairs  at  the  entrance  into  his  house 
of  the  new  scholar. 

Millicent  had  on  one  side  of  her  a  youth 
of  exceeding  good  carriage  and  appoarance, 
having  a  round  good-natured  sort  of  face, 
and  a  head  remarkable  for  a  profusion  of 
very  light  air.  He  was  soon  hailed  by  his 
smiling  hostess  as  the  Master  Leonard  to 
whom  it  has  been  stated  Millicent  was  be- 
trothed. On  the  other  sidfe  was  an  acquain- 
tance of  the  courteous  reader's  of  older 
standing — no  other  than  our  reserved  stu- 
dent of  medicine,  John  Hall.  He  looked 
somewhat  less  grave  of  aspect  than  had 
been  his  wont  when  in  company  with  Ins 
marvellous  careful  guide,  Simon  Stockflsh 
— long  since  with  those  estimable  specimens 
of  horseflesh,  Dapple  and  Jack,  in  ease  and 
security  in  his  native  hamlet.  Both  tliese 
youths  were  welcomed  with  similar  demon- 
strations of  their  inflnite  contentation  at 
their  coming. 

From  them  .she  hurried  to  a  little  damsel, 
who  hung  on  the  arm  of  the  physician — the 
same  who  was  in  attendance  with  Mistress 
Tabitha  on  the  fair  Millicent  when  we  tirst 
had  acquaintance  with  her.  Her  features 
were  fair  and  regular,  and  might  be  thought 
comely,  but  a  constant  humor  she  had  of 
laughing  in  a  child-like  manner,  though  she 
was  within  a  j'ear  as  t>ld  as  her  friend  the 
physician's  daughter,  gave  her  aspect  an  air 
of  silliness.  Mildred  was  caressed  as  eagerly 
as  had  been  Millicent.     There  remained 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


•75 


now  only  Master  Doctor  Posset  himself,  for 
her  who  was  so  intent  on  playing  the  amiable 
hostess  to  welcome,  and  right  welcome  was 
he  made.  Indeed,  the  sober-clad,  active 
little  man,  with  his  saturnine  complexion, 
and  beard  of  formal  cut,  was  as  dear  to 
Mistress  Tabitha  as  tlie  apple  of  her  eye  ; 
and  all  the  attentions  slie  lavished  on  his 
daughter,  and  the  attachment  she  professed 
for  every  one  and  everything  belonging  to 
the  physician,  were  for  him,  and  for  him 
only.  Even  the  courteous  master  of  danc- 
ing fell  far  short  of  the  esteem  with  which 
she  regarded  the  doctor  of  physic,  and  all 
other  men  whatsoever  were  as  nothing  in 
her  eyes  compared  to  him. 

x\ll  apparently  in  the  choicest  spirits,  the 
little  Alildred,  heard  above  the  rest,  gigghng 
at  every  word,  proceeded  to  the  chaml)er 
where  the  others  of  the  party  were  assem- 
bled, and,  after  mutual  salutations  had  pass- 
ed, they  were  placed  at  their  several  seats, 
tlie  doctor  having  the  place  of  honor ;  and 
tiie  cold  sirloin  and  the  manchets,  the  pasty, 
the  turkey  poults,  and  the  other  goodly  things 
their  hospitable  caterer  had  provided  for  her 
guests,  were  quickly,  with  the  help  of  a  huge 
ilagon  of  ale,  passing  from  the  dishes  into 
the  trenchers,  and  from  the  trenchers  down 
the  throats  of  the  company  ;  Mistress  Tabi- 
tha pressing  all  with  a  most  bountiful  spirit, 
but  kindly  taking  care  the  little  doctor  should 
have  the  tit-bits,  and  he  intent  upon  making 
the  best  use  of  her  welcome  attentions  ; 
Monsieur  Galliard  administering  to  the 
wants  and  wishes  of  every  female  in  the 
circle  with  an  infinity  of  sugared  compli- 
ments and  expressive  pantomine,  the  which 
seemed  to  afford  such  absolute  diversion  to 
Mildred,  her  childisii  mirth  was  breaking 
forth  at  every  minute ;  the  jolly  leather- 
seller  drinking  to  all  with  more  freedom 
than  good  manners ;  the  pious  spin-rier 
moralizing  at  every  mouthful,  and  the  surly 
lantern-maker  saying  naught  unless  spoke 
to,  and  then  being  so  short  in  his  speech, 
few  but  they  who  knew  his  humor  would 
have  tolerated  such  bearishness. 

Young  Martin  Poins,  found  himself  care- 
fully placed  by  the  side  of  his  hostess,  for 
she  was  too  experienced  a  campaigner  not 
to  have  two  strings  to  her  bow — indeed,  she 
might  have  acknowledged  to  at  least  half 
a  dozen — where  he  was  plentifully  supplied 
with  whatever  the  table  afforded,  with  a  vast 
show  of"  sweet-hearts,""  dear  little  rogues," 
and  the  like.  After  awhile,  Launce  joined 
the  group,  having  washed  his  face  and  hands, 
and  put  himself  into  as  decent  a  trim  as  he 
could,  and  sat  opposite  young  Poins,  and 
these  two  mischievous  varlets  kept  amusing 


themselves  during  their  meal,  by  endeavor- 
ing to  stamp  on  each  other's  toes  under  the 
table,  looking  the  whilst  as  though  nothing 
was  so  far  from  their  thoughts.  It  chanced 
that  Launce,  intending  inflicting  on  the 
other  a  proper  punishment  for  the  missile 
that  had  given  him  so  sore  a  blow  that  morn- 
ing, stamped  with  all  his  force,  after,  as  he 
thought,  he  had  made  sure  of  his  victim. 

In  an  instant  the  guests  were  prodigiously 
alarmed,  by  seeing  Mistress  Tabitha  jump 
from  the  table  in  the  middle  of  an  animated 
discourse  she  was  holding,  and,  screaming 
like  twenty  wild-cats,  commence  hopping 
about  the  chamber,  frantically  holding  of 
one  foot  in  her  hand.  A  soft  corn  of  exqui- 
site tenderness  she  had  long  endeavored  to 
conceal  had  received  the  full  force  of  the 
heavy  foot  of  her  apprentice  ;  but  her  ges- 
tures and  grimaces  were  so  singular  that 
even  those  who  were  most  eager  to  profTer 
their  assistance  could  scarce  restrain  their 
mirth.  Martin  Poins  endeavored  to  smother 
his  laughter  by  hiding  his  face  in  his  arms, 
which  were  crossed  before  him  on  the  table, 
ever  and  anon  peeping  up  at  the  bewildered 
Launce,  with  eyes  that  glistened  again  with 
the  intensity  of  his  enjoyment. 

The  Frenchman  looked  the  most  concern- 
ed, and  was  in  an  instant  at  her  side  with 
the  equally  attentive  Millicent,  expressing 
all  manner  of  consolation  and  simpathy  after 
his  fashion ;  the  little  doctor,  like  most  of 
the  others,  had  more  in  his  countenance  of 
marvel  than  of  pity  ;  Mildred  was  giggling 
openly  ;  and  Simon  Peltry  was  having  a 
more  hearty  laugh  in  the  nearly  empty 
flagon  he  held  for  disguise  before  his  face. 

Tabitha  Thatchpole  found  that  she  had  a 
difficult  part  to  play.  Had  she  followed  her 
inclinations,  her  apprentice — for  she  was  but 
too  well  satisfied  to  whom  she  was  indebted 
for  her  intolerable  suffering — would  not  have 
had  a  whole  bone  in  his  body,  ere  one  could 
count  twenty  ;  but,  had  she  exhibited  her 
wrath,  her  character  for  sweetness  of  dispo- 
sition she  had  been  at  such  infinite  trouble 
to  make  her  friends  properly  aware  of, 
might  have  been  in  some  danger  ;  therefore 
she  thought  it  most  to  her  interest  to  put  off 
for  the  present  the  display  of  her  rage,  and, 
evidently  struggling  hard  against  the  agony 
she  endured,  she  presently  limped  towards 
the  table,  assuring  every  one  it  was  a  sudden 
pain  in  her  foot,  but  that  it  had  left  her  al- 
together. She  glanced  but  once  at  Launce, 
and  the  hapless  apprentice  thought  he  beheld 
as  many  cudgels  in  her  eyes  as  might  have 
sufficed  all  the  apprentices  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, in  an  attack  upon  the  city  watch. 

Millicent,  like  the  rest,  returned  to  her 


rS 


THE  SECRET  TASSION. 


place,  wliicli  was  on  ono  side  John  Hall, 
Leonard  being  on  tlie  otlier,  and  tlicse  two 
seemed  rivals  in  their  attentions  to  the  yoinig 
student.  If  ho  had  been  a  brother,  he  conld 
not  have  been  more  Jvinuly  cared  for. 
Doubtless  this  was  all  in  t!ic  best  spirit  of 
friendship  and  regard  of  the  youtirs  amiable 
disposition ;  yet,  when  the  full  lustrous  eyes 
of  the  pliysician's  daughter  dwelt  upon  him 
with  the  delicious  smile  whicli  played  around 
lier  most  seductive  mouth,  it  looked  as 
though  she  invited  him  to  a  more  tender 
attachment.  Howsoever  this  might  be,  al- 
ready John  Hall  reflected  less  intently  upon 
the  o])inions  of  the  learned  in  his  profession, 
tlian  he  had  been  wont  for  some  years  past. 
During  the  greater  portion  of  this  time, 
there  had  been  no  lack  of  discourse  amongst 
the  hostess  and  her  guests.  There  had  been 
a  deal  of  friendly  gossip  relating  to  neighbor 
this,  and  neighbor  t'other ;  the  state  of  the 
weather,  parish  matters — Old  Poins  being 
one  of  the  city  officers — and,  most  of  all,  of 
the  Queen's  Highness,  of  whom  many  loyal 
speeclies  were  said — even  the  bearish  Roger 
Chinks  professing  a  zealous  devotion — 
where  she  had  been  during  the  last  progress. 
the  goodly  entertainments  provided  I'or  h;r, 
and  the  excellency  of  her  health  and  govern- 
ment, were  canvassed  in  a  spirit  that  denoted 
the  admiration  with  which  she  was. regarded 
by  her  good  and  faithful  citizens.  Some- 
thing too  was  said  of  the  day's  pageant,  but 
the  discussion  was  brought  to  a  speedy  end- 
ing by  general  preparations  for  departure  ; 
Mistress  Tabltha,  forgetful  of  her  hurt,  hur- 
rying them  w.th  tiie  fear  of  losing  the  sight. 
Having  locked  up  all  the  victual,  and  secured 
the  exclusive  attentions  of  Dr.  Posset,  she 
led  the  way,  apparently  in  the  happiest  mood 
possible. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

O  happy  life,  if  that  their  good 
The  husbandmen  hut  understood  ! 
Who  all  the  day  themselves  do  please, 
And  younglings  with  such  sjiorts  as  these  ; 
And,  lying  down,  have  noagh  t'  atlright 
Sweet  sleep  that  makes  more  short  the  night. 
Robert  Herrick. 

A  NOISE  of  the  roughest,  wildest,  maddest 
sort,  ever  and  anon  came  from  one  of  the 
humblest  tenements  in  all  Stratford.  It  was 
borne  on  the  air  in  gusts,  such  as  made  the 
rafters  creak  again,  when  the  wintry  wind 
visiteth  us  in  his  rudest  fashion,  but,  unlike 
in  this  much,  it  bore  little  o'  the  humor  of 
melancholy  in  its  accent.  It  was  a  strange 
medley.     In  truth  it  held  as  little  accord- 


ance wilh  aught  of  nature's  music,  as  you 
may  tind  betwi.vt  the  liling  of  a  saw  and  the 
strain  of  a  nightingale,  and  to  so  extraordi- 
nary a  degree  had  it  the  trick  of  varying 
from  one  character  and  meaning  to  another 
totally  opposite,  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  ridiculous  effect  it  had  upon  such  as 
heard  it. 

At  one  time  you  would  have  sworn  all 
the  cat  family  in  the  town  of  Stratford  were 
pouring  forth  their  amorous  declarations  ;  at 
a;iother  it  seemed  as  palpable  that  a  whole 
pack  of  curs  were  snarling  and  snapping  at 
each  other  with  a  most  canine  ferocity  ;  a 
moment  after,  and  lo  !  you  heard  some  lusty- 
throated  cock  hurling  a  shrill  defiance  to 
every  one  of  his  feathered  brethren  within  a 
mile  of  hiin,  which,  ere  quite  ended,  would 
be  replied  to  in  as  hearty  a  s])irit,  by  anothe 
terribly  valiant  crower  eager  to  uphold  the 
dignity  of  his  own  dunghill ;  then  some 
contemplative  donkey  would  pour  out  his 
honest  song  in  such  piercing  style  you  were 
forced  to  clap  your  hands  to  your  ears  to 
shut  out  the  riot.  Anon,  a  peacock  would 
trumpet  a  most  moving  flourish  ;  thereupon 
followed,  a  chorus  of  ducks,  geese,  turkeys, 
pigs  and  cows,  such  as  ought  to  have  satisfied 
any  one  there  was  a  goodly  farm  close  at 
hand,  as  well  furnished  with  all  manner  of 
live  stock  as  any  in  Warwickshire ;  and  after 
such  would  come  a  burst  of  laughter  mixed 
of  screatos,  and  the  strangest  cries  ever 
heard,  that  sounded  as  though  a  score  or 
two  of  drunken  mad  fellows  were  having 
their  diversion,  with  the  devil  to  pay  the 
piper. 

Whence  came  this  strange  uproar  ?  what 
causeth  it  ?  what  meaneth  it  ?  jwrchance 
some  may  ask.  Whereof  the  proper  answer 
can  only  be  got,  by  leading  the  questioner 
by  the  ears,  which,  an  he  will  excuse  my 
being  so  free  with  him,  I  will  do,  unto  the 
very  spot  where  it  exists,  under  which  guid- 
ance, doubtless,  he  would  marvel  hugely  at 
noting  what  a  lack  of  attentivencss  there 
appeared  amongst  those  he  chanced  to  find 
nighest  to  it.  Such  of  the  townsfolk  as  he 
might  meet  abroad  lingering  about  the  doors 
of  their  gossips,  or  speeding  on  some  urgent 
errand,  seomeil  to  take  as  little  heed  of  that 
terrible  coil  as  though  it  were  of  no  more 
account  than  a  child's  whistle  ;  save  when, 
on  a  sudden,  as  it  were,  it  bur.-t  out  with  a 
greater  vehemency  of  strangeness,  the  intel- 
ligencer would  stop  i'  the  midst  of  his  iiews, 
to  join  in  the  laugh  those  about  him  raised 
as  they  took  heed  of  it,  and  he  on  his  errand 
would  cluu".kle  to  himself  as  though  his  brain 
had  just  been  tickled  by  the  apprehension  of 
some  singular  good  jest. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


77 


It  was  evident,  beyond  all  doubting,  that 
the  noise  proceeded  from  a  chamber,  in  a 
small  tenement,  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town  ; 
the  wicket  whereof — a  low  door  not  more 
than  three  feet  from  tlie  ground — tliough 
closed,  allowed  of  a  free  current  of  air  and 
sound  above  it.  Over  the  threshold  was  the 
rude  sign  of  a  pair  of  shears,  which  with 
the  diamond-paned  casement,  a  little  on  one 
side  of  it,  were  lialf  concealed  by  the  tendrils 
of  a  thick-spreading  creeper,  that  nearly 
covered  up  the  whole  front  of  the  little 
dwelling. 

Should  the  curious  spectator  be  induced 
to  peep  over  the  half-door  to  behold  the  cause 
of  the  racket,  which  now  raged  fiercer  than 
ever  within,  tlie  tirst  thing  he  would  catch 
a  glimpse  of  would  be  no  other  than  his  odd 
acquaintance  Jonas  Tietape,  his  hose  un- 
gartcred,  his  feet  unshod,  and  his  slops  open 
at  the  knees,  seated  cross-legged  on  his 
shop-board  without  his  jerkin,  a  stitching  a 
kirtle,  that  seemed  much  to  need  his  repair- 
ing hand,  as  fiercely  as  though  his  life  de- 
pended on  his  speedy  getting  of  it  done  ;  all 
the  whilst  amusing  of  himself  by  making 
the  rude  conceit  already  mentioned,  the 
wliich  seemed  to  afford  him  the  most  abso- 
lute contentation,  for  ever  and  anon  he 
would  stop  in  tlie  midst  of  it  to  rid  himself 
of  the  mirth  he  could  no  longer  contain. 

In  the  chamber  wliicli,in  many  things,  was 
of  a  like  oddiiess  with  its  occup;int,  having 
an  aspect  of  grotesqueness  in  all  its  furniture, 
a  goodly  tire  was  blazing  on  the  liearth,  and 
a  rude  lamp  was  burning  over  his  head, 
both  afFordiug  him — for  it  was  long  after 
sunset — a  sutliciency  of  light  to  work  by. 
Perched  on  a  chair,  made  out  of  divers  rough 
pieces  of  such  branches  as  liad  grown  in  the 
must  fantastic  shapes,  was  a  magpie,  evi- 
dently keeping  a  fixed  and  somewhat  suspi- 
cious eye  on  the  busy  tailor ;  and,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  heartli  was  seated,  on  a 
low  bench,  a  grave  and  venerable  cat,  in  color 
much  like  uiilo  a  fox,  who  also  watched  hiin 
with  a  marvellous  keen  look.  Besides  these, 
tiiiee  or  four  little  dogs,  of  various  breeds, 
were  attempting  to  snatch  a  brief  repose  in 
tlie  neighborhood  of  the  fire. 

One  of  tire  sources  of  Jonas'  pastime  was 
the  annoyance  he  managed  to  cause  his 
companions.  After  a  course  of  odds  and 
ends  of  ridiculous  songs,  varied  with  the  mi- 
micry of  all  manner  of  animals,  his  attention 
would  be  directed  towards  the  blazing 
heartii,  and  they  who  were  enjoying  its 
warmth  ;  and  then  he  would  commence  all 
manner  of  extravagant  grimaces  and  antics, 
mingled  with  the  wildest  screeching  and 
squealing,  till  the  magpie  exhibited  its  alarm 


by  flapping  its  wings,  and  cawing  at  him 
with  a  very  monstrous  earnestness.  And 
the  cat,  no  less  disturbed,  would  raise  her 
back,  and  commence  a  sort  of  half-threaten- 
ing, half-frightened  song,  in  tlie  lowest  bass 
of  her  compass  ;  and  the  little  dogs  would 
uncurl  themselves  and  yelp  in  chorus.  This 
state  of  things  achieved,  their  delighted  owner 
would  fall  back  in  a  seeming  ecstacy,  shout- 
ing out  his  exceeding  gratification  with  a 
strength  of  throat,  the  like  of  which  no  man 
ever  heard,  and  then  allow  his  grave  associ- 
ates a  few  minutes  respite. 

Ere  he  again  took  to  his  stitching,  he 
again  cleared  his  throat  with  an  aflectation 
of  ceremony  most  laughable  to  witness  ; 
taking  up  an  old  cittern  which  was  beside 
him,  and  gazing  at  the  occupant  of  the  stool, 
with  a  passionate  tenderness  in  the  first  part 
of  each  verse  the  most  devoted  gallant  could 
not  have  excelled,  he  sang  the  following- 
words,  well  known  by  the  title  of 

A  RIGHT  MOVING  DIALOGUE  BETWIXT  THE 

DESPAIRING   DOVER    AND    HIS 

JOLLY   GOSSIP. 

despairing  Lover. 

Alack,  there  is  no  remedie, 

My  moving  plaint  is  heard  in  vain  ; 

Oh,  traitress  false,  thy  treacherie 

Doth  cleave  my  very  heart  in  twain  ! 

Jolly  Gossip. 
Tush,  boy,  for  shame  !  the  heart  that  breaks 

Can  feed  no  more  a  thirsty  throttle  : 
Who  cares  a  jot  for  Fortune's  freaks  ! — 

Come,  Drawer,  open  t'other  bottle  ! 

Despairing  Lover. 

I'm  sick  of  life — I  long  for  death  ! 

Say  what  ye  will,  deem  as  ye  list ; 
Why  should  I  breathe  this  worthless  breath, 

Since  I  your  priceless  love  have  missed  ? 

Jolly  Gossip. 
Tush,  boy,  for  shame  ! — Hold  up  thine  head  ' 

If  of  thy  life  she's  none  so  chary. 
She'll  care  still  less  for  thee  when  dead — 

No  woman's  worth  this  rare  canary. 

Despairing  Lover. 

Ah  me,  my  breast  is  pierced  with  woe  ! 

Death's  dart  doth  in  my  vitals  lie : 
Thou  didst  not  well  to  use  me  so, 

Naithless  I  bless  thee  as  I  die. 

Jolly  Gossip. 

Tush,  boy,  for  shame  !— What.fall'n  indeed, 

As  ripest  acorn  in  October ! 
Here,  Drawer,  help  him  in  his  need, 

And  let  him  sleep  until  he's  sober ! 


78 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"  By  Jeronimn,  a  jjood  song  !"  exclaimed 
a  voice,  evidently  procecdino-  from  one  wlio 
leaned  at  his  ease,  resting  of  liis  elbows  on 
tlie  wicket.  There  could  be  no  more  mis- 
taking the  merry  way  of  the  speaker,  than 
the  waggish  look  tiiat  peered  over  the  low 
door  of  tlie  woman-tailor's  humble  tenement. 
Tiic  words  had  scarce  been  said  when  the 
singer  jumped  up  on  the  board,  whereon  he 
was  so  nimbly  a  stitching,  with  a  ridiculous 
screech,  and  holding  ofhis  right  leg,  stretch- 
ed out  beibre  him,  with  liis  two  hands,  as 
though  it  were  an  arquebus,  and  he  was 
taking  deadly  aim  at  his  visitor,  uttered  a 
loud  sound,  threw  a  summerset,  as  though 
from  the  recoil  of  tlie  piece,  and  then  made 
a  clear  leap  out  of  the  open  window.  No 
sooner  had  this  been  done  than  he  at  the  wick- 
et leapt  lightly  over  it,  sprung  on  the  shop- 
board,  and  jumped  through  the  casement  af- 
ter him,  which  was  the  commencement  of  a 
terrible  sharp  race  betwixt  the  two  ;  the  one 
screecliing  and  hallooing  as  though  flying 
for  his  life,  passing  over  the  wicket  and 
through  'he  window  like  a  fox  hard  pressed, 
and  the  other  at  his  heels  barking  and  yelp- 
ing as  though  exceeding  ravenous  to  have 
him  for  his  prey. 

The  horrible  din  these  tv.'o  made  can 
scarcely  be  conceived.  Dick,  the  magpie, 
flew  and  hopped  about,  cawing  with  a  mon- 
strous energy,  as  though  bethought  his  last 
hour  was  come  ;  and  Tib,  the.cat,  clamber- 
ed to  a  high  shell,  where  slie  kept  up  a  con- 
stant swearing,  sj)itting,  and  caterwauling, 
as  the  strange  chase  proceeded,  and  as  each 
engaged  in  it  passed  close  by  her  :  the  little 
dogs  crowded  into  one  of  the  corners,  bark- 
ing with  all  their  little  might. 

Thus  these  two  went  on,  till  on  a  sudden 
Jonas,  turning  quickly  round,  and  making 
in  the  opposite  direction,  they  came  against 
each  other  with  so  monstrous  a  shock  as  to 
cause  both  to  tumble  backwards.  For  a 
second  or  so,  they  lay  silent  and  motionless, 
as  though  dead  as  any  stone.  Anon,  one 
raised  his  head,  and  peered  at  his  compa- 
nion, and  then  again  laid  himself  at  bis 
length.  The  other  did  the  like,  with  the 
same  affectation  of  gravity  ;  and  this  tlicy 
continued  to  do  alternately,  Tib  and  Dick 
looking  on  from  their  resting-jilaccs  with  a 
singular  curiousncss,  and  the  little  dogs  a 
little  less  disturbed,  but  still  uttering  an  oc- 
casional bark. 

At  h^st  they  both  rose  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  sat  gazing  at  each  other,  face  to 
face,  with  the  rueful  visnges  of  whipped 
schoolboys,  each  putting  his  linger  to  his 
eye,  and  each  commencing  lirst  to  whimper, 


then  to  sob,  and  at  last  to  roar  as  though  in 
the  terriblest  tribulation. 

Suddenly  the  woman's  tailor  stopped  short 
in  liis  grief,  clapped  his  hands  to  his  sides, 
and  uttered  so  pierring  a  crow,  it  must 
needs  have  been  heard  by  every  chanticleer 
in  the  parish  ;  whereupon,  his  coni]  anion 
jumped  on  his  legs,  laughing  us  henrtily  as 
ever  man  did,  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  O'  my  life,  this  is  exquisite  fooling  !" 
exclaimed  he.  "  I  would  my  dame  had  seen 
it.  Joan's  merry  heart  would  have  enjoyed 
it  right  heartily.  In  truth,  'twas  rare  sp-ort. 
I  would  rather  have  lost  my  best  customer 
than  have  missed  it."  The  speaker  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair  and  indulged  in  a 
succession  of  mirthful  chuckles.  His  com- 
panion answered  not,  save  by  a  whoop  at 
his  favorites,  which  made  them  look  intent 
on  a  speedy  taking  of  themselves  away  from 
their  present  places  of  refuge,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  the  host's  part  to  his  visitor. 

The  gossips  entered  upon  a  jovial  ca- 
rouse, and,  as  their  spirits  became  refreshed, 
they  grew  into  a  greater  content  with  them- 
selves, and  had  recourse  to  their  customary 
tricks,  till  they  kicked  up  such  a  racket,  the 
dogs,  the  cat,  and  the  magpie,  were  again 
driven  from  their  ordinary  places,  on  each 
side  the  fire,  to  which  they  had  returned,  to 
find  security  wherever  they  could. 

It  was  whilst  they  were  intent  upon  the 
performance  of  some  of  the  maddest  of  their 
freaks,  that  two  men,  cloaked,  and  otherwise 
habited  like  persons  of  worship,  were  pro- 
ceeding at  a  slow  pace  into  the  town  in  the 
direction  of  the  woman-tailor's  humble  ten- 
ement. These  persons  were  Sir  George 
Carew  and  his  friend  Master  Shakspeare. 
It  was  now  so  late  an  hour,  that  all  the  so- 
ber-minded townsfolk  had  taken  them  to 
their  beds.  It  followeth  that  the  place  was 
hushed  into  a  profound  stillness,  save  where 
the  noise  of  the  two  gossips  spread  itself, 
and  the  darkness  of  the  night  was  of  that 
impenetrable  sort,  nothing  could  be  &een 
but  here  and  there  a  stream  of  light  from 
some  casement  wherein  a  fire  still  blazed, 
or  a  candle  was  kept  burning,  betokening, 
perchance,  a  late  carouse,  or  the  good 
dame's  preparations  to  welcome  to  his  com- 
fortable hearth  her  absent  bedfellow  ;  or  a 
door  thrown  open  to  admit  of  the  dop-.irture 
of  some  merry  party  to  their  several  homes, 
would,  the  whilst  they  were  saying  their 
parting  courtesies  on  the  threshold,  illumini! 
the  deep  gloom  of  the  whole  neighborhood 
in  a  still  more  cheerful  fashion. 

The  two  ])ersons,  to  whom  allusion  hath 
just  been  made,  kept  close  together,  conver- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


79 


sing  in  a  low  tone  to  each  other,  but  return- 
ing, witli  much  heartiness,  the  fair  "  good 
nights"  they  had  of  every  one  who  passed 
them  on  their  way.  At  their  heels  was  a 
stately  hound,  Vv'ho  seemed  to  take  no  heed 
whatsoever  of  any  thing  or  any  one,  but 
stalked  along  with  as  much  affectation  of 
Rolemness  and  dignity,  as  would  have  suf- 
ficed the  goodliest  justice  'o  the  peace  that 
ever  sentenced  a  sturdy  beggar  to  the  stocks. 

The  subject  of  their  conversation  was  no 
other  than  the  Earl  of  Essex,  whose  trea- 
sonable designs,  after  his  abandonment  of 
his  government  in  Ireland,  had  become 
much  talked  of.  Sir  George  Carew  detail- 
ed to  his  friend  the  intrigues  in  which  this 
vain  and  headstrong  noble  had  been  en- 
gaged, after  he  had  been  placed  under  ar- 
rest ijy  the  Queen's  order. 

"  He  got  his  liberty  at  last,"  added  he, 
"  but  was  not  allowed  to  come  to  court,  or 
near  the  Queen's  person.  These  restric- 
tions he  could  not  stomach.  His  great 
heart  would  not  take  quietly  the  humility 
that  was  put  upon  him.  lie  regarded  those 
who  were  most  in  favor  at  court  as  his  rest- 
less and  remorseless  enemies,  and  was  ever 
saying  some  scurvy  thing  or  another  against 
tliem.  His  discontent  grew  greater  every 
day,  and  he  gathered  about  him  a  number 
of  mischievous,  restless  busybodies,  bold 
swordsmen,  contident  fellows,  men  of  broken 
fortunes,  and  such  as  saucily  used  their 
tongues  in  raihng  against  all  men.  They 
did  him  no  good  ;  but  his  worst  adviser  was 
one  Cuife,  his  secretary,  a  plotting  dangerous 
knave,  who  had  been  with  him  in  Irekmd." 

"  Methinks  I  have  heard  of  this  man,  Sir 
George,  at  Oxford.  Held  he  not  some  ap- 
pointuient  there  ?"  « 

"  O'  my  lile,  I  know  not  well.  All  I 
know  is,  that  he  is  the  most  pestilent,  trea- 
sonable knave  that  ever  carved  out  employ- 
ment for  the  hangman,  tlic  which  I  make  no 
manner  of  doubt  he  is  now  busily  intent  on, 
assisted  Ijy  divers  otiiers  whose  names  aie 
in  great  repute.  Foremost  of  these  is  your 
assured  friend  and  patron.  Lord  South- 
ampton." 

"  Nay,  nay.  Sir  George  Carew,  this  can- 
not b?.  Your  intelligencer  must  have  play- 
ed you  false  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 
peare,  greatly  excited.  "  I  would  pledge 
my  life  on  his  loyalty." 

"  Do  nothing  unadvisedly,  friend  Will," 
replied  liis  comp.  nion.  "  The  Privy  Coun- 
cil know  of  a  surety  that  he  is  engaged  in 
a  treasonable  design,  and,  moreover,  that  he 
hath  engaged  his  friend,  Sir  Charles  Dan- 
vers,  in  the  same  desperate  undertaking. 
In  short,  they  have  the  names  of  all  the  con- 


j  spirators,  and  are  as  well  informed  of  their 
plans  as  they  are  themselves." 

"  I  must  to  London,  Sir  George.  I  must 
away  without  loss  of  time.  I  am  bound  to 
save  him.  He  shall  not  be  sacrihced  in 
this  foolish  business,  an  I  have  power  to 
help  him." 

"  Well  said,  Master  Shakspeare,"  replied 
Sir  George  Carew,  to  his  agitated  friend. 
"  It  was  mainly  for  this  I  sought  occasion 
for  privy  speech  with  you.  I  knew  with 
what  aftectionateness  you  do  regard  this 
young  lord,  nor  am  I  ignorant  of  his  worthy 
nature  ;  therefore  desired  I  he  should  have 
the  aid  of  so  trusty  a  friend  in  tlie  perilous 
condition  in  which  he  hath  placed  himself. 
But,  hush  !     What  wild  uproar  is  that  ?" 

The  two  speakers  stopped  of  a  sudden 
and  listened  intently  ;  but  all  around  seem- 
ed wrapped  in  as  deep  a  silence  as  dark- 
ness ;  and,  whilst  they  tarried,  Talbot  put 
himself  forward  in  tiie  direction  whence 
the  rude  sounds  that  so  much  startled  Sir 
George  Carew  had  come.  It  may  readily 
be  imagined  that  this  noise  proceeded  from 
the  woman's  tailor  and  his  merry  gossip, 
who  still  pursued  their  mad  pranks  as  riot- 
ously as  ever.  They  had  got  to  the  re- 
hearsing of  certain  strange  i'eats  of  postur- 
ing, which  they  intended  performing  at  the 
next  Stratford  games — an  annual  lestival, 
in  famous  repute  all  over  Warwickshire — 
that  would  be  held  in  a  day  or  so,  twisting 
of  their  bodies  in  the  oddest  positions  ever 
seen,  to  the  extreme  bewilderment  of  Dick 
and  Tib,  who  glanced  on  the  scene  with  a 
singular  curious  look,  from  a  place  of  safe- 
ty. Jonas  stood  on  his  head  and  hands, 
supporting  Tommy  Hart  on  his  feet,  whose 
head  and  body  formed  a  sort  of  ring,  the 
legs  being  round  the  neck,  when,  as  they 
were  deeply  intent  on  keeping  their  unnatu- 
ral posture,  they  suddenly  heard  a  dreadful 
sort  of  sliarp  snapping  noise.  The  eyes  of 
both  were  at  the  same  moment  directed  to 
the  spot,  and,  to  their  extreme  horror,  they 
beheld,  peering  over  the  wicket,  a  horrible 
black  visage,  with  eyes  that  looked  to  be  of 
burning  coals,  glaring  on  them  as  though 
about  to  do  them  a  terrible  mischief.  The 
lateness  of  the  hour,  joined  to  the  fiendish 
aspect  of  their  visitor,  as  it  was  seen  in  the 
ruddy  fireliglit,  looked  a  thousand  times 
more  unearthly  from  the  singular  ])ositions 
in  which  they  observed  hiai,  struck  the 
hearts  of  both  with  a  sudden  and  over- 
whelming fear,  and,  in  an  instant,  Tommy 
Hart  tumbled  from  his  elevation,  and  he  and 
his  equally  frightened  gossip  rolled  over  and 
jostled  each  other  till  tlicy  got  to  a  distant 
corner  of  the  chamber.     There  each  strove, 


80 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  main  and  uiifjlit,  (o  pfc^t  holiind  tl)o 
other,  uttering  all  manner  of  fearful  cries  in 
a  low  voice,  and  trembling  in  every  limb. 
Dick  and  Till  and  their  associates  seemed 
to  share  in  their  terror,  for  they  got  them- 
selves as  far  as  possible  from  the  door — one 
cawed,  the  other  mewed,  and  tha  rest  yelp- 
ed, as  though  they,  too,  were  within  an  inch 
of  being  friglitened  out  of  their  lives. 

The  once  merry  hatter  had  now  sunk  on 
his  knees,  as  terribly  out  of  conceit  of  mirth 
of  any  sort  as  a  whipped  turnspit,  and  com- 
menced a  strange,  yet  monstrous  earnest 
sort  of  prayer,  full  of  asseverations  of  the 
thorough  honesty  of  his  dealings  to  man, 
woman,  and  child,  whilst  the  poor  woman's 
tailor  was  kneeling  behind  him,  engaged  in 
a  similar  kind  of  devotion,  but  making  very 
urgent  confession  of  divers  appropriations 
of  small  pieces  of  stuff,  which  he  had  ne- 
glected returning  to  his  customers. 

"  An  it  please  you,  my  lord,"  muttered 
the  fear-struck  hatter,  scarcely  daring  to 
lift  his  eyes  to  the  horrible  object  he  ad- 
dressed, '•  I  am  in  no  case  for  the  society  of 
your  honorable  worship;  I  am  an  exceed- 
ing humble,  worthless  poor  varlet,  unwor- 
thy to  tie  your  honor's  shoes.  But  here  is 
my  friend  here,  an  your  honorable  vrorship 
pleases,  as  worthy  a  soul  as  ever  broke 
bread—" 

"  Nay,  I  assure  your  noble  worship," 
cried  the  other,  with  a  wild  kind  of  fervor, 
"  I  am  a  monstrous  malefactor,  that  hath 
more  sins  to  repent  of  than  there  are  threads 
in  a  piece  of  cloth.  It  is  this,  my  very  ex- 
cellent sweet  gossip,  you  must  needs  be  in 
quest  of,  for  he  hath  such  rare  virtues — " 

"  Believe  him  not,  I  beseech  you,  good 
my  lord,"  screamed  out  Tommy  Hart  in 
as  loud  a  voice  as  he  could  use,  "  I  have 
no  more  virtue  in  me  than  you  may  find  in 
a  withered  radish.  Jonas  will  do  credit  to 
your  worship's  judgment — Jonas  is  such 
admirable  choice  company." 

"  I  am  but  an  ass  to  Tommy  here,  an  it 
please  you,  my  lord,"  replied  Jonas  Tietape 
with  equal  energy — "  there  is  not  such  an 
intolerable  ass  in  all  Warwickshire." 

"  Try  him,  an  it  please  your  worship.  An 
you  do  not  lind  him  worth  a  score  of  such 
poor  wittols  as  am  I,  I  will  give  my  head  as 
a  bnttercd-toast  for  the  next  hungry  dog  I 
meet." 

How  long  this  altercation  might  have 
continued  I  cannot  take  upon  me  to  say, 
had  it  not  been  put  to  a  sudden  conclusion. 
The  sole  cause  of  it  at  that  moment  opened 
a  pair  of  monstrous  forinidal)le  jaws  that,  to 
the  excited  and  terrified  visions  of  the  tremb- 
ling posturers,  looked  to  be  of  the  size  of  a 


church-door,  at  least,  when  fully  extended. 
At  this,  Tommy  Hart,  with  a  cry  of  terror, 
made  a  desperate  struggle  to  get  behind  the 
friend  in  whose  praise  he  had  spoken  so 
movingly  scarce  a  moment  since,  the  which 
the  latter  seemed  as  desperately  intent  on 
not  allowing,  and  began  struggling  fiercely, 
shouting  murder  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
The  object  of  their  terror  closed  his  terrible 
fangs  with  a  curious  sound,  that  was  any- 
thing but  human  ;  and,  at  the  uproar  it 
created  in  the  two  gossips,  began  a  series 
of  other  sounds  that  were  less  human  still 
— for  beyond  all  manner  of  doubt  they  were 
— such  as  a  dog  uses  when  barking. 

In  all  honesty,  the  horrible  head  peering 
over  the  wicket,  that  had  so  frightened'  the 
woman's  tailor  and  his  associate  into  the 
assured  conviction  the  arch  enemy  had 
come  to  them  on  his  devilish  errand  for  one 
or  both,  was  no  other  than  that  of  Talbot, 
who,  attracted  by  the  noise  the  two  were 
making  during  their  performances,  went 
straigiit  to  the  house,  and  put  his  paws  on 
the  low  door  so  that  he  could  see  all  that 
was  going  on  in  the  chamber.  The  singu- 
lar attitudes  of  the  posturers  made  him  utter 
the  low  growl  that  attracted  their  attention; 
and,  not  being  able  to  make  out  the  nature 
of  the  eloquent  addresses  that  were  made  to 
him,  and,  moreover,  being  somewhat  in- 
clined for  sleep,  he  indulged  himself  in  a 
yawn  of  more  than  ordinary  length  ;  and 
the  outcry  tliis  occasioned  so  disturbed  him, 
that  he  took  to  barking  rattier  angrily. 

The  cry  of  "  Murder  !"  made  Master 
Shakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew  quicken 
their  steps  ;  and  they  arrived  at  the  wicket 
just  in  time  to  witness  the  recognition  of 
Talbot  by  the  frightened  gossips,  who  now 
laughed  at  their  fears  till  the  tears  ran  down 
their  cheeks  ;  and,  whilst  the  merry  hatter 
caressed  his  old  acquaintance,  Jonas  took 
to  his  ordinary  antics,  and  went  wiiirling 
along  the  chamber,  on  his  hands  and  feet, 
with  more  wantonness  than  ever,  scaring 
his  favorites  from  the  snug  places  wherein 
they  had  been  bewildered  spectators  of  the 
strange  scenes  just  described,  and  some- 
what disturbing  the  gravity  of  Talbot,  who 
could  not  refrain  from  an  occasional  bark. 
On  Sir  George  and  his  friend  coming  up, 
the  story  of  the  fright  Talbot  had  put  them 
into  was  soon  told,  to  the  amusement,  as  it 
seemed,  both  of  narrators  and  hearers  ;  and, 
in  a  short  time  afterwards,  Master  Shaks- 
peare and  Sir  George  parted,  with  a  few 
hasty  words  that  seemed  to  be  of  deep  im- 
port. The  former,  in  an  exceeding  perturb- 
ed state  of  mind,  made  the  best  of  his  way 
to  his  cottage  at  Shottery,  whilst  Sir  George 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


81 


Carew  returned  to  his  own  mansion  ;  and 
the  two  gossips,  for  a  brief  space  longer,  to 
their  postures,  their  jests,  and  their  bursts 
of  joyous  laughter  at  the  recollection  of  the 
avvful  visit  that  had  so  hugely  disturbed 
them. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty  ; 
And  enamored  do  wish,  so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight, 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side, 
Through  woods,  through  seas,  whether 
she  would  ride.  Ben  Jonsox. 

Tabitha  huiTied  on  with  her  companion 
as  though  with  an  exceeding  desire  to  wit- 
ness the  goodly  pageants  of  which  rumor 
had  spoken  pretty  loudly  throughout  Barbi- 
can, and  perchance  also  with  some  particu- 
lar eagerness  to  show  to  all  of  her  acquain- 
tance, in  the  first  place,  in  what  marvellous 
good  company  she  was,  and,  in  the  second, 
what  brave  attire  she  could  don  lor  such  an 
occasion. 

Ever  since  she  had  heard  from  an  intel- 
ligencer in  whom  she  could  put  her  trust, 
tliat  Queen  Elizabeth  was  to  return  on  such 
a  day  to  her  good  city  of  London,  and,  ac- 
cording to  a  fashion  in  excellent  favor  with 
her,  was  to  be  welcomed  back  with  rejoic- 
ings and  shows  of  all  descriptions,  she  de- 
termined to  play  the  part  of  the  good  wo- 
man, on  as  large  a  scale  as  possible,  and, 
by  every  means  in  her  power,  endeavor  to 
secure  for  herself  the  long-coveted  station 
of  wife  to  that  very  admirable,  famous  phy- 
sician. Master  Doctor  Posset. 

It  was  rare  that  Mistress  Tabitha  was 
seen  in  the  streets  with  other  male  compan- 
ion than  Launcelot  Curthose,  whose  task 
it  had  often  been,  when  his  mistress  stayed 
out  nights  in  visiting  any  of  her  gossips  at 
a  distance,  to  march  before  her,  as  every 
dutiful  apprentice  was  wont  to  accompany 
his  mistress,  with  a  lantern  in  onn  hauii  and 
a  cudgel  in  the  other  :  the  one  for  lighting 
of  her  way,  the  other  to  be  raised  in  her 
defence,  in  case  of  need.  But  Lannce  was 
now  little  thought  of,  save  only  for  the  con- 
sideration of  the  notable  punishment  that 
was  due  to  him  for  the  horrible  monstrous 
torture  he  had  put  her  to,  which  entered  her 
mind  when  a  smart  twinge  of  pain  occurred 
in  the  wounded  foot.  At  all  other  ])eriods, 
her  thoughts,  like  her  speech,  had  but  one 
direction.  She  laughed  and  talked,  occa- 
6 


sionally  turning  round  to  say  something  pe- 
culiarly gracious  to  her  followers,  and 
omitting  nothing  that  could  make  herself 
appear  as  devoted  to  the  wishes  of  her  com- 
panion as  she  was  pleasant  and  amiable. 

The  conduct  of  the  Physician  did  not  ve- 
ry clearly  establish  an  opinion  on  the  state 
of  his  feelings  towards  her,  as  satisfactory 
as  she  could  have  desired.  Ho  looked  as 
hvely  as  a  superannuated  ape,  to  which 
his  mowing  and  chattering  gave  a  marked 
resemblance.  He  never  failed  to  laugh 
when  it  was  expected  he  should ;  and 
though  there  might  be  nothing  absolutely 
lover-like  in  his  behavior,  there  was  cer- 
tainly nothing  to  discourage  the  idea  that 
at  least  a  very  friendly  feeling  existed. 
There  was  only  one  thing  in  his  conduct 
Tabitha  disliked.  He  kept  continually 
turning  round,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
most  powerfid  attacks  upon  his  affections, 
to  observe  their  followers.  She  fancied 
that  the  proceedings  of  liis  daughter  with 
Leonard  and  John  Hall,  who  were  walking 
on  each  side  of  her,  did  not  meet  with  his 
approbation.  Although  this  might  be  very 
natural  on  his  part,  slie  liked  not  the  indif- 
ference it  manifested  to  her  claims  upon  him. 

After  them  came  Millicent  and  the  two 
young  students — as  it  seemed,  the  other 
two  still  vying  how  most  to  gratify  John 
Hall.  With  the  girl  every  sentence  was 
accompanied  with  a  most  seductive  smile, 
and  her  betrothed  seemed  to  heed  a  vast 
deal  more  the  making  of  himself  agreeable 
unto  his  male  associate  than  unto  the  other. 
The  young  physician  could  not  but  appear 
pleased.  Reserved  as  he  was,  and  of  so  mar- 
vellous a  gravity,  he  could  not  but  feel  the  ge- 
nial influence  of  two  such  persons  anxious 
to  give  him  all  the  contontation  in  their 
power. 

They  were  followed  by  Monsieur  Galli- 
ard  and  Mildred,  each  apparently  on  the  ex- 
quisitest  terms  with  the  other.  After  these 
came  Roger  Chinks,  old  Poins,  and  Simon 
Peltry,  gossips  almost  from  their  cradles, 
who  were  so  intent  on  dilating  on  the 
good  qualities  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  whose 
affairs  then  were  much  talked  of  by  the  ci- 
tizens, as  scarce  to  heed  the  vast  crowd 
in  which  they  had  now  got  commingled. 

Every  one,  gentle  and  simple,  young  and 
old,  appeared  to  have  donned  their  holiday 
tire  in  honor  of  their  sovereign  ;  and  a 
countless  multitude  of  such,  as  gaily  hab- 
ited as  their  means  would  allow,  v/ere  hast- 
ening along  the  narrow  streets  of  the  city  ; 
the  tankard-bearer's  daughter  elbowing 
past  the  alderman's  wife,  and  the  artificer's 
widow  pushing  before  the  poor  gentlewo- 


82 


THE  SECRET  P.^SSION. 


man,  without  rogarJ  to  respect  or  precedence. 
Gay  gallants  were  mixed  lip  with  tlic  rascal 
Fort ;  valiant  commanders  were  thrust  aside 
by  unruly  apprentices:  and  honest  mer- 
chants were  liustled  by  a  pack  of  master- 
less  vagrants,  and  the  like  worthless  poor 
hnaves. 

The  major  part  were  intent  on  making 
the  bsst  of  their  way  to  the  nearest  point 
where  the  Queen's  Highness  was  expected  ; 
but  a  very  many  were  too  busy  to  have 
such  intentions.  Of  these,  some  were  mak- 
ing preparations  for  a  goodly  bonfire,  wher- 
ever the  sj)acc  admitted  of  it ;  and  here 
there  was  a  marvellous  activity  and  run- 
ning to  and  fro  with  faggots,  and  logs,  and 
tar-barrels,  to  heap  up  fur  the  expected 
blaze.  ■ 

Along  the  whole  line  of  road  the  owners 
of  the  better  sort  of  houses  were  engaged  dis- 
playing from  their  windows  whatever  store 
of  tapestry  or  arras  they  were  possessed 
of,  which,  stirred  by  the  wind,  did  make  a 
pretty  show,  out  of  all  doubt.  In  almost 
every  fresh  turning  were  seen  artizans  us- 
ing of  their  utmost  diligence  in  the  getting 
ready  of  some  wondrous  pageant :  for  these 
things,  especially  wherein  fine  Litin  speech- 
es were  addressed  to  her — the  Queen  won- 
derfully at^?cted.  This  day  being  the  an- 
niversary of  her  coronation,  more  than  usu- 
al efP)rts  were  made  to  give  her  contenta- 
tion  in  this  way,  and  the  utmost  cunning 
of  the  times  was  taxed  in  producing  alle- 
gorical shows  of  more  scholarly  sort  than 
any  that  had  hitherto  been  seen.  The  city 
authorities  only  allowed  their  zeal  to  be 
exceeded  by  their  diligence ;  they  had 
made  the  most  magnificent  preparations  ; 
yet,  satisfied  as  they  might  be  with  them, 
they  were  too  well  aware  of  the  variable 
humor  of  their  royal  mistress  to  await  the 
result  without  some  anxiety. 

Whilst  tlieso  more  important  matters 
were  in  hand,  there  was  no  lack  of  amuse- 
ment ready  for  such  as  chose  to  partake  of 
it.  There  was  scarce  a  corner  that  had 
not  its  balled-singer,  by  whose  stentorian 
lungs  the  superhuman  qualities  of  their 
sovereign  were  insisted  on  in  the  most 
choice  cloggrel.  Mountebanks  took  advan- 
tage of  the  continual  thronging  to  endeavor 
to  find  a  market  for  sundry  excellent  reme- 
dies for  divers  most  potent  diseases,  which 
it  was  delicately  hinted  by  them,  good  sub- 
jects should  strive  earnestly  to  rid  them- 
selves of.  Here,  conjurors  swallowed  fire  ; 
there,  astrologers  announced  the  telling  of 
fortunes  :  here  was  a  delicate  pupjiet-show, 
just  arrived  from  the  court  of  Prester  John  ; 
and  there,  a  bear,  of  such  capital  sort  for 


the  showing  of  sport,  the  Sophy  had  offered 
a  thousand  crowns  for  it  from  the  owner  to 
have  it  for  his  own  particular  pastime. 

Noticing  of  these  famous  sights,  and  com- 
menting on  most,  the  party  from  Barbican 
kept  pressing  on.  Of  these  the  three  gos- 
sips, who  brought  up  the  rear,  took  the  least 
notice.  Their  attention  seemed  engrossed 
by  political  matters,  and,  after  discussing 
the  aspect  of  affairs  at  home  and  abroad, 
abusing  of  certain  courtiers,  and  extrava- 
gantly lauding  their  favorite  the  Earl  of 
Essex,  it  seemed  as  though  they  were  about 
to  take  up  with  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
sources  at  all  times  of  popular  eloquence 
— grumbling. 

'■  Gog's  wounds,  it  would  be  v;ondrous 
such  things  should  be  allowed  !"  exclaimed 
Roger  Chinks,  in  a  gruff  voice.  "Things 
are  getting  in  so  bad  a  case,  I  doubt  hugely 
there  will  be  honest  living  for  any  man, 
soon.  The  prices  of  whatsoever  matters 
are  most  needed  of  us  poor  men,  are  nigh 
upon  double  what  they  were  a  score  of 
years  back." 

"  Ay,  neighbor,  that  I  find  to  my  cost," 
observed  Simon  Peltry.  "  I  cannot  get 
me  a  pint  of  huffcap  for  less  than  a  penny, 
which  in  my  father's  time  was  to  be  had 
for  a  halfpenny  at  any  ale-house  within  the 
walls.  As  for  bracket  and  dagger  ale,  they 
have  got  to  such  a  pestilent  price,  as  have 
put  them  clean  out  of  my  drinking." 

"  But  it  endeth  not  at  the  ale-house,"  re- 
plied the  lantern-maker,  "  else  might  it  be 
in  some  way  bearable.  Here  have  I  been 
obliged  to  raise  the  wages  of  my  journey- 
man twopence  a  day  more  than  ever  was 
lieard  of  since  the  craft  of  a  lantern-maker 
came  into  exercise  ;  and  yet  they  have  the 
liorriblc  impudency  to  tell  me  they  cannot 
keep  soul  and  body  together.  Do  not  you, 
neigiibor,  remember  that,  within  these  thir- 
ty years,  I  might  in  this  goodly  city  buy  the 
best  pig  or  goose  I  could  lay  my  hand  on 
for  fourjience,  which  now  costcth  twelve- 
pence  ?  a  good  capon  for  threepence  or 
fourpence  ?  a  chicken  for  a  penny  ;  a  hen 
for  twopence,  which  now  costeth  me  double 
and  triple  the  money?  It  is  likewise,  in 
greater  ware,  as  in  beef  and  mutton.  More- 
over, I  have  seen  a  cap  for  thirteenpence  as 
good  as  I  can  now  get  for  two  shillings  and 
sixpence  of  our  good  gossip,  Mistress 
Thatchpole.  Of  cloth,  ye  have  heard  how 
tiie  price  is  risen.  Now  a  pair  of  shoes 
cost  twelvepence  :  yet,  in  my  time,  I  have 
bought  a  better  for  sixpence.  Now  I  can 
get  never  a  horse  shoed  under  tenpence 
or  twelvepence,  when  I  have  also  seen  tfie 
common  price  was  sixpence." 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


83 


"  Ay,  marry,"  responded  the  leather-sel- 
ler, "  and  hast  marked,  neighbor,  the  mon- 
strous falling  off  there  is  in  the  goodness  of 
whatever  things  we  most  need,  notwith- 
standing of  such  exceeding  charges  ?  Now 
the  lambswool  I  have  tastod  of  late  hath  no 
more  the  true  smack  of  such  as  I  was 
wont  to  drink,  no  more  than  a  score  of  years 
back,  tiian  has  a  draught  of  this  conduit 
we  are  passing  the  flavor  of  muscadine. 
Hanging  be  too  good  for  the  cheating  var- 
lets  who  plunder  us  in  this  intolerable  fash- 
ion." 

In  good  sooth,  neighbors,  methinks  you 
are  somewhat  too  hasty  in  tliese  your  judg- 
ments in  this  matter,"  observed  tlie  spurri- 
er. Doubtless  is  it  that  the  prices  of  divers 
commodities  have  been  raised  to  some  ex- 
tent since  our  youth  :  but  it  remaineth  not 
merely  in  matters  of  victual ;  divers  other 
things  needed  by  us  are  not  to  be  bought 
but  at  as  high  a  price.  Perchance,  Neigh- 
l3or  Chinks,  the  selling  of  lanterns  hath  of 
iate  become  more  profitable  than  it  used  ?" 
"  An  if  it  had  not,"  replied  the  lantern- 
maker,  "  I  must  needs  have  abandoned  the 
trade." 

"  And  in  the  selling  of  leather,  there 
might  also  be  larger  gains,"  added  the 
other. 

"  Body  o'  me,  yes,"  answered  Simon  Pel- 
try, laughingly,  to  whom  the  preceding- 
question  had  been  addressed.  "  1  had  no 
need  to  grumble  on  that  score,  did  not  the 
villanous  tapsters  rob  me  of  them." 

"  Then  I  prythee  say,  where  is  the  wit 
or  honc-ty  of  complaining  of  the  times  ?" 
asked  JNIartin  Poins  quickly,  yet  with  deep 
seriousness.  "  I  marvel  hugely  you  should 
lack  that  proper  sense  of  religiousness, 
which  would  have  made  you  perceive  that 
this  change  in  the  times  was  a  thing  for 
which  you  should  have  been  hugely  grate- 
ful. Instead  of  being  foolishly  discontent- 
ed at  the  highness  of  prices,  you  should 
have  gone  down  on  your  knees,  and  have 
thanked  God  you  lived  when  such  were 
general." 

The  only  reply  the  pious  spurrier  got  was 
a  sort  of  grunt  from  the  surly  maker  of 
lanterns.  The  jolly  dealer  in  leather  made 
no  other  sign  of  having  attended  to  the 
speech,  than  by  putting  his  tongue  in  the 
corner  of  his  cheek  in  a  manner  infinitely 
more  significant  than  refined,  and  winkino- 


fancy.  Martin  was  no  where  to  be  seen. 
All  had  been  so  engaged  upon  their  sepa- 
rate gratifications,  that  the  boy  had  been 
entirely  forgotten  by  them  for  some  time 
past. 

Many  were  the  comments,  and  various 
the  conjectures  his  disappearance  occasion- 
ed. Mistress  Thatchpoie,  in  especial,  ap- 
peared to  take  his  absence  much  to  heart, 
there  being  no  end  to  her  hopes  and  fe;trs 
concerning  of  the  dear  child's  safety.  What 
looked  to  be  most  strange,  the  father  seem- 
ed the  least  interested  or  alarmed,  though 
known  to  be  of  a  singular  affectionate  dis- 
position. He  knew  Martin  belter  than  the 
rest,  and  could,  had  he  chose,  have  made  a 
shrewd  guess  as  to  liis  whereabouts.  He 
contented  himself,  however,  with  express- 
ing his  conviction  that  there  was  no  cause 
of  alarm.  This  at  last  satisfied  his  anxious 
neighbor;  and,  after  some  exceeding  strong 
assertions,  that  she  should  never  know  the 
least  atom  of  comfort  all  her  days  should 
any  harm  befall  her  precious  favorite,  she 
was  induced  to  resume  her  hold  of  the  phy- 
sician's arm,  which  she  had  dropped  in  the 
intensity  of  her  concern,  and  the  party  pro- 
ceeded on  their  course. 

The  crowd  grew  more  dense  as  they  ad- 
vanced. The  doctor  began  to  find  consid- 
erable difficulty  in  making  a  path  for  him- 
self and  his  com])anion.  The  people  were 
wedged  together  in  cotuitless  multitudes, 
without  the  slightest  distinction  of  worth  or 
station.  The  windows  and  housetops  were 
crowded  with  eager  faces,  turned  in  one  di- 
rection, which  was  of  course  tliat  by  which 
the  Queen's  Highness  was  expected.  But 
the  party  from  Barbican  had  now  nearly 
approached  their  destination,  which  was  the 
house  of  a  certain  gossip  and  kinswoman  of 
Mistress  Tabitha's,  well  known  to  most  other 
companions  as  Dame  Quiney,  then  living  in 
the  city  in  excellent  repute  both  there  and 
at  court  as  a  clear-starcher.  The  windows 
of  her  dwelling  overlooked  the  road  through 
which  the  expected  procession  was  to  pass, 
and  one  on  the  ground-floor  had  been  set 
aside  for  the  conveniency  of  those  now  ur- 
gently pushing  their  way  towards  it. 

In  due  time,  after  no  small  difiiculty,  they 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  access  to 
Dame  Quiney 's  dwelling;  and,  after  a 
courteous  welcome  from  an  exceetling  clean 
and  still  comely  matron,  wearing  one  of  the 


at  his  fellow-grumbler.     At  this  instant,  the  j  very  rufls  she  was  so  famed  for  prejiaring 
attention   of  all  the  party  was  drawn  to-   for  the  Queen's  Highness  and  the  ladies  of 


wards  Mistress  Tabitha,  calling  to  young- 
Martin  Poins  to  point  out  to  him  a  pageant 
that  seemed  exceedingly  to  have  struck  her 


her  court,  they  took  their  position  at  the 
large  open  casement,  some  sitting  on  stools 
and  benches,  and  the  rest  standing  up  be- 


84 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


hind.  After  seeing  them  all  properly  placed, 
tlieir  hostess  retired,  to  look  after  other 
guests  of  hers. 

It  was  now  about  the  hour  of  noon.  The 
d.iy  was  none  so  bright  at  the  first  dawn  of 
j-t,  but  8uddcnly  the  sun  burst  out  with  a 
marvellous  cheerful  aspect,  that  made  the 
decorated  streets  and  countless  thousands 
in  their  holiday  suits  look  wonderfully 
brave.  In  all  that  vast  assemblage,  there 
was  scarce  one  face  wliercof  the  exj)ression 
was  not  cheerfulness  and  content. 

A  famous  commotlity  of  debating  was  go- 
ing on  amongst  the  crowd,  during  the  time 
Tabitha  and  her  party  were  kept  waiting; 
but  it  was  suddenly  put  a  stop  to  by  distant 
shouts,  that  made  every  individual  in  tiie 
crovvd  break  olf  what  he  was  then  intent  on, 
and  do  all  that  in  him  lay  to  get  a  good 
view  in  the  direction  of  those  welcome 
sounds. 

Every  one  was  now  restless  with  e.xpec- 
tation.  They  who  were  in  the  streets  were 
on  tiptoe,  striving  to  look  over  each  others 
heads — the  short  dej)loring  their  want  of 
height,  and  the  tall  wishing  themselves  to 
be  very  May-polos  ;  whilst,  i'roin  the  win- 
dows and  housetops,  and  indeed  from  all 
elevated  places,  the  same  eflforts  were  made 
for  the  satisfying  of  the  general  curiosity. 
Anon  the  sound  of  trumpets  caught  the  ear, 
and  the  shouting  became  louder.  Where- 
upon, the  crowd  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
party  from  Golden  Lane  showed  greater 
restlessness  in  their  movements,  and  more 
curiosity  in  their  looks.  And  so  it  contin- 
ued, with  the  addition  of  divers  impatient 
yet  loyal  exclamations  from  all  quarters,  till 
the  sound  of  the  trumpets  coming  nigher 
and  nigher,  the  shouts  every  instant  in- 
creasing in  loudness  and  the  cries  and 
movements  of  all  around  who  were  well 
placed  for  a  view  in  the  quarter  to  which 
every  gaze  was  directed,  gave  good  assur- 
ance that  the  Queen's  Highness  was  ap- 
proaching. 

A  short  time,  which  to  many  seemed  to 
grow  to  a  marvellous  length,  and  the  im- 
posing cavalcade  that  accompanied  the 
Queen  began  to  make  its  appearance. 
Fir.st,  came  trumpets  and  kettle-drums  on 
horse-back  ;  the  performers  whereof,  in  gay 
dresses  almost  covered  with  gold  lace,  appear- 
ed to  be  making  the  loudest  music  in  their 
power.  Then  came  a  goodly  comjtany  of 
the  highest  nobles  and  gentlemen  of  the 
land,  f)n  prancing  palfreys  gaily  compari- 
soned.  In  the  midst  of  these,  and  they  were 
a  very  many,  came  a  handsome  caroche 
drawn  by  six  horses,  in  the  which  were 
two  or  tiiree  persons,  but  conspicuous  above 


.  all  a  woman  right  royally  apparelled,  the 
sight  of  whom  seemed  to  make  that  vast 
multitude  mad  with  very  joy.  Such  shouting 
of  good  wishes,  sucli  tlu'owing  up  of  caps, 
such  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  it  was  scarce 
possible  any  human  eye  had  ever  seen  be- 
t'ore ;  all  tlie  whilst  the  lady  so  welcomed 
regarded  everything  with  exceeeding  gra- 
ciousness,  inclined  her  head  in  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  the  popular  good-will, 
and  more  than  once  spoke  her  thanks  in 
words  of  winning  courtesy. 

Bravely  as  she  was  clad,  and  gracious  as 
she  appeared,  there  could  be  no  disguising 
that  age  had  marked  her  features  with 
many  unpleasing  memorials  ;  besides  which, 
her  visage  had  a  careworn  and  heavy  look, 
that  told  of  a  heart  ill  at  ease.  In  truth, 
she  liad  just  then  many  causes  of  disquie- 
tude in  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  home  and 
abroad  ;  but  the  conduct  of  her  favorite,  the 
Earl  of  Essex  in  his  Irish  government,  and 
since  his  improper  return  thence,  as  it  was 
continually  represented  to  her,  tilled  the 
aged  beauty  with  more  uneasiness  than  all 
the  other  things  put  together.  She  strove 
hard  to  disguise  her  cares  and  anxieties 
from  her  loyal  subjects  under  a  smiling  ex- 
terior, but  she  could  not  conceal  from  her- 
self that  the  arrow  had  entered  into  her 
soul,  and  her  increasing  moodiness  and  ir- 
ritability had  long  since  told  to  her  attend- 
ants the  increase  in  her  sufferings. 

In  this  manner  Queen  Elizabeth  continu- 
ed her  progress,  with  such  occasional  stops 
as  came  of  certain  ])ageants,  consisting  of 
such  dainty  conceits  in  the  way  of  the  per- 
sonating of  allegorical  and  heathenish  cha- 
racters, as  were  considered  most  apt  for  the 
occasion. 

Here  came  Time,  to  lay  aside  his  scythe 
and  hour-glass,  and  swear  he  had  nought 
more  now  to  do  than  to  note,  with  infinite 
reverence,  the  peerless  being  on  whom  his 
poor  eyes  had  been  allowed  to  gaze.  There 
Hercules  put  by  his  club,  vowing  that,  al- 
though he  had  performed  so  many  marvellous 
labors,  to  stand  undazzled  within  the  influ- 
ence of  sucli  radiant  beauty  was  of  too  much 
dilKculty — therelbre  he  would  not  essay  it, 
but  at  an  humble  distance  be  ever  at  hand 
ready  to  put  forth  his  puissance  to  the  utter- 
most against  any  who  should  be  daring- 
enough  to  deny  her  exceeding  exquisiteness 
of  feature  and  supcreminence  of  mind. 

In  one  place,  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity 
came  forward  to  say  that  they  had  had 
nought  to  do  on  earth,  since  a  princess  had 
appeared,  who,  in  her  own  proper  person, 
made  so  fair  a  sl)ow  of  all  their  virtues,  and 
every  other  it  was  possible  to  have  :  and,  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


85 


another,  Neptune  exhibited  himself,  with  his 
trident  and  sea-horses,  swearing  most  lustily 
that  he  had  given  up  all  empire  of  the  seas, 
since  its  true  and  invincible  ruler,  the  high 
and  mighty  Elizabeth,  had  put  forward  her 
pretensions  to  such  sovereignty  ;  and  a  vast 
deal  more  of  the  like  sort,  spoken  in  most 
excellent  soundi  ag  verse,  and  replied  to  by 
the  Queen's  Majesty  in  fair  and  pleasant 
speech. 

To  the  monstrous  delight  of  the  immense 
multitude,  congregated  in  every  street. 
Queen  Elizabeth  proceeded,  after  this  fash- 
ion, to  Somerset  House,  where  she  intended 
to  remain. 

Mistress  Tabitha  Thatchpole  and  her  par- 
ty waited  where  they  had  placed  themselves, 
rarely  pleased  with  the  sight  they  had  had, 
till  the  crowd  in  the  streets  had  so  far  dimi- 
nished as  to  allow  of  tlieir  retracing  their 
footsteps  to  Golden  Lane,  it  never  having 
been  their  intention  to  stay  in  Dame  Qui- 
ney's  house  but  sutRcient  time  to  see  the  pa- 
geant ;  so,  taking  leave  of  tbe  clear-starch- 
er,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  right  glad  to 
be  quit  of  them,  she  having  persons  of  liigher 
condition  then  staying  with  her,  they  bent 
their  steps  homeward.  But,  in  so  happy  a 
mood  were  they — for  even  the  old  lantern- 
maker  spoke  and  looked  with  some  pleasant- 
ness— that  they  cared  not  for  immediate  re- 
turning, and,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  jovial 
leather-seller,  proceeded  to  a  quiet  inn  in 
Paternoster  Row,  to  solace  themselves  after 
their  fatigues  with  a  tankard  of  choice  ale. 
All  the  chambers  seemed  as  full  of  thirsty 
customers  as  they  could  well  be  :  and  the 
drawers  were  running  hither  and  thither, 
calling  to  this  one,  and  answering  that,  and 
serving  all  as  busy  as  bees  in  a  hive.  There 
was,  the  while,  such  a  hum  of  voices  as  could 
scarce  have  been  e.xceeded  at  the  buildnig 
of  Babel. 

With  a  great  to-do,  and  not  without  much 
patience,  and  a  word  or  two  spoke  by  Simon 
Peltry  to  one  of  the  drawers,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  his — no  marvel,  for  the  thirsty  lea- 
ther-seller was  as  familiar  with  every  drawer 
in  London  and  Southwark  as  he  might  be 
with  his  own  jerkin ;  they  were  accommo- 
dated with  a  small  table  and  the  proper 
quantity  of  stools,  and  thereupon  they,  with 
a  very  reasonable  heartiness,  conunenced 
paying  their  attention  to  the  tankard. 

This  was  well  liked  of  each,  and  singu- 
larly so  of  the  jolly  leather-seller,  who,  whilst 
pronouncing  his  opinion  on  its  merit,  and 
giving  its  whole  history,  from  the  sowing  of 
the  grain  and  the  gathering  of  the  hops,  to 
its  present  acquaintance  with  his  throat,  had 
such  frequent  recourse  to  his  subject,  that 


few  of  the  party  knew  of  its  worth,  save 
through  the  medium  of  his  commendations  ; 
whereof,  the  consequence  was,  another  tank- 
ard was  ordered,  of  which  a  fairer  division 
was  enforced ;  and,  as  they  this  way  were  led 
to  understand  the  justice  of  their  neighbor's 
commentaries,  each  began  to  be  as  eloquent 
as  Simon  Peltry. 

Of  Jolm  Hall,  it  is  sufficient  to  state,  ho 
was  not  altogether  unmoved.  Wiiether  the 
blandishments  of  the  kind  Millicent,  or  the 
friendly  attentions  of  her  betrothed,  or  the 
generous  influence  of  the  tankard,  did  most 
in  removing  that  grave  and  somewhat  studi- 
ous air,  that  had  so  distinguished  liim,  when 
leaving  his  mother's  home,  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  that  unmatchable  prudent  guide, 
Simon  Stockrish,  we  have  no  positive  assur- 
ance, but  it  was  easy  to  see  he  was  exceed- 
ing well  pleased. 

Simon  Peltry,  in  the  meanwhile,  was  re- 
lating to  such  of  the  company  as  he  could 
get  to  listen  to  him  the  particular  history  of 
every  drawer  who  had  been  seen  by  any  of 
his  companions  since  they  had  entered  the 
inn,  for  in  Such  learning  he  had  not  his 
match  all  the  world  over.  He  could  name 
not  only  the  parents  of  eacli  individual,  but 
knew  their  gossips,  and  every  thing  they  had 
said  or  done  worthy  of  the  telling.  x\s  for 
Mistress  Tliatchpole,  she  was  in  her  ele- 
ment. It  seemed  to  her  that  the  little  doctor 
was  as  attentive  as  though  she  had  been  his 
most  profitable  patient,  and  she  fancied  his 
looks  were  of  a  wonderful  tender  and  devot- 
ed natin-e. 

A]\  at  once  the  conversation  took  a  turn 
towards  Golden  Lane  ;  and  she,  perchance, 
being  more  at  home  there  than  in  any  other 
subject  that  had  been  mentioned,  cared  no 
more  for  being  a  listener,  and  straight  talked 
away  as  vigorously  as  the  best.  She  entered 
at  some  length  into  her  own  history,  not  tail- 
ing, with  proper  expressiveness,  to  state  how 
well  things  were  going  on  with  her  in  the 
selling  of  caps  and  hats,  and  giving  a  full, 
perchance  an  over,  valuation  of  the  tenement 
that  had  been  left  her  for  the  carrying  on  of 
her  business.  In  sliort,  she  left  nothing  un- 
said that  could  convey  to  her  hearers  the 
conviction  thatMistress  Tabitha  Thatchpole, 
of  Golden  Lane,  Barbican,  was  worth  any- 
body's having,  be  he  whom  he  might. 

"  Methinks  that  apprentice  of  yours  doth 
not  lack  industry,"  observed  Martin  Poins. 

"  By  my  troth  no,"  replied  Tabitha,  anxi- 
ous, for  especial  reasons,  to  appear  ready  to 
speak  kindly  of  every  one.  "  He  is  no  itiler, 
I  promise  you.  And,  though  I  cannot  but 
hesitate  somewhat  in  telling  you  of  it,  as 
it  may  seem  in  some  sort  the  showing  of 


86 


TiiE  SECRET  PASSION. 


a  great  vanity  in  me,  lie  eiitoretii  into  my 
service  witli  such  excccdinif  aliectionate- 
ness,  that  he  will  allow  of  none  assisting. 
Nay,  so  devoted  is  he,  tiiat  of  his  own  accord 
he  pressed,  with  a  monstrous  earnestness  I 
found  it  impossible  to  deny,  th;it  ho  should 
be  left  on  this  glorious  day  to  look  after  the 
concerns  of  the  sliop,  stating  that  1  should 
enjoy  myself  all  the  mor(%  as  it  was  his  wish, 
if  I  knew  that  my  customers  were  as  well 
looked  after  as  though  1  were  present." 

VV'hilst  Mistress  Thatchpole's  company 
were  adding  their  several  commendations  to 
hers  of  tliis  plicenix  of  an  apprentice,  it  so 
chanced  that  a  noise  was  heard  of  no  little 
laughing  and  shouting  in  one  of  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms,  and,  amid  the  maddest  U])roar  of 
mirth  from  many  voices,  tliey  could  easily 
distinguish  the  tbllowing  sentences  :— 

'•  Out  on  her  for  a  scurvy  jade,  say  I  ! — 
But  I  cannot  restrain  mine  honest  mirth, 
vviien  thinking  what  a  fury  the  old  tabby 
would  bo  in,  knew  she  I  have  set  at  nought 
her  strict  commands  and  threatenings  in 
case  of  di.sobedience  to  keep  within  doors. 
But  she  is  well  served.  1  entreated  to  be 
allowed,  as  other  'prentices  are,  to  make  this 
a  Jioliday,  but  all  I  got  of  my  prayers  was  a 
rating- -plague  on  her  shrewish  tongue  ! — 
so  loud,  I  was  nigh  upon  stunned  by  the  fu- 
ry of  it ;  and,  as  for  cutfs — methinks  she  tak- 
eth  me  for  nothing  better  than  a  custard, 
that  must  needs  have  a  constant  beating  to 
make  it  of  any  goodness.  But  prvthec  join 
witli  me  in  a  draught  of  hufi-caj),  to  drink 
this  Mother  Brimstone  a  speedy  meeting 
with  her  proper  master  and  helpmate.  Old 
Scratch." 

Scarce  had  this  speech  ended,  when,  with 
a  shout  of  riotous  laughter,  a  party  of  nearly 
a  dozen  youths,  seeming  to  be  apprentices, 
burst  into  the  chamber,  and  at  the  head  of 
them,  and  out  of  all  doubt  the  speaker  of 
what  hath  just  been  stated,  was  no  other 
than  the  phceni.x.  Lazy  Launce.  At  the 
hearing  of  such  rude  phrases  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, Mrs.  Tabitha  Thatchpolc,  quite  forget- 
ful of  the  amiable  character  she  had  been  so 
earnestly  endeavoring  to  assume,  directly 
Launce  made  his  appearance,  flew  towards 
him,  shewing  by  her  looks  and  manner,  that 
neither  this  offence,  nor  that  whereby  her 
corn  had  suffered  so  terribly,  would  bo  al- 
lowed to  pass  without  a  signal  j)unishment. 

Doubtless  he  would  have  had  a  famous 
mauling,  had  not  young  I'oins,  who  was  one 
of  the  mci>t  boisterous  of  the  party,  as  she 
came  rushing  with  her  utmost  speed,  thrust 
one  of  his  companions  towards  her  with  such 
force,  that  they  scarcely  escaped  coining  to 
tlie  ground  together.    Ero  Tabitha  could  re- 


cover herself,  Launce,  looking  to  be  in  as 
great  a  fright  as  ever  he  was  in  his  life  for 
all  his  big  words,  took  but  two  steps  to  the 
door,  and  vanished  out  of  the  neighborhood 
as  though  the  very  helpmate  he  had  proposed 
for  Ills  mistress  was  in  full  chase,  at  his 
heels. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

Here  are  none  that  can  bear  a  painted  sliow, 
Strike  when  you  wink,  and  then  lament  the 

blow  ; 
Who,  like  mills,  set  the  right  way  for  to  grind, 
Can  make  their  gains  alike  with  every  wind  ; 
Only  some  fellows  with  the  subtlest  pate, 
Amongst  us,  umy  perchance  equivocate 
At  selling  of  a  horse,  aud  that's  the  most. 

Fkancis  Beaumont. 
If  we  do  prosper  now,  not  we  on  Fate, 
But  she  on  us  shall  for  direction  wait. 

The  Great  Favorite. 
It  is  a  weary  interlude 
VV  hich  doth  short  joys,  long  woes  include  ; 
The  world's  the  stage,  the  prologue  tears. 
The  acts  vain  hopes,  and  varied  fears  ; 
The  scene  shuts  up  with  leas  of  breath, 
And  leaves  no  epilogue  but  death. 

Dr.  Hexry  King. 

The  principal  chambers  in  Essex  House 
were  thronged  with  men  of  divers  charac- 
ters and  conditions,  but  for  the  most  part 
bearing  in  their  several  aspects  an  air  of 
lierce  determination  and  gloomy  discontent. 
Amongst  them  were  some  of  high  lineage 
and  good  reputations,  and  divers  of  singular 
repute  for  ability  in  learning  and  in  arms  ; 
but  there  were  also  present  a  vast  number 
of  gentlemen  of  poor  fortunes  and  poorer 
characters  ;  daring  adventurers,  who  had 
nothing  to  lose  but  their  lives,  which  they 
were  ready  to  risk  in  any  venture  that  pro- 
mised to  better  their  fortunes  ;  and  impov- 
erished cast  captains,  who  sought  a  desper- 
ate enterprise,  somewhat  out  of  revenge 
against  certain  persons  in  the  government, 
by  whom  they  fancied  they  had  been  scin-- 
vily  treated,  and  somewhat  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  rich  advantages,  as  had  been  held 
out  to  them  if  they  assisted  in  the  stirring 
game  that  was  afoot. 

There  were  signs  of  exceeding  restless- 
ness and  noisy  debate  in  the  crowded  cham- 
bers. Little  knots  of  eager  disputants  kept 
togL'theron  tlie  staircase,  in  the  ante-rooms, 
and  even  in  the  state  apartments,  wliere  the 
leaders  of  the  ])arty  were  in  close  and  ear- 
nest debati\  Although  many  bore  upon 
them  the  appearance  of  discontented  courti- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


87 


ers  and  poor  soldiers,  wearing  of  such  bra- 
very as  their  means  would  allow,  albeit  it 
was  in  many  cases  exceedingly  worn  and 
soiled,  there  were  others  who  were  dressed 
with  a  marked  plainness.  These  latter 
were  men  of  severe  aspect  and  of  formal 
manners  ;  rude  in  their  bearing,  loud  of 
voice,  and  violent  in  their  counsels  ;  in  their 
outward  apparel  affecting  the  new  religion, 
and  in  their  behavior  monstrously  disaffect- 
ed to  the  existing  government.  Amongst 
them  were  two  or  three  who  wore  the  garb 
of  priests  ;  and  these  were,  for  the  most 
part,  engaged  in  loud  discourse  on  the  mar- 
vellous qualities  of  their  noble  patron,  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  and  of  the  intolerable  griev- 
ances that  had  been  thrust  upon  him  by 
certain  ungodly  wretches  who  poisoned  the 
ear  of  the  Queen's  Highness  against  him. 

The  hubbub  of  voices,  and  the  constant 
going  to  and  fro  of  upwards  of  three  hun- 
dred persons,  gave  to  the  scene  an  air  of 
strangeness  and  confusion,  to  which  the  vast 
number  of  offensive  weapons  that  lay  here 
and  there  on  the  rich  furniture  of  tiie  prin- 
cipal apartments,  and  in  every  convenient 
corner,  added  greatly.  Messengers  were 
rapidly  passing  in  and  out,  bringing  reports 
to  the  leaders  ;  one  was  rudely  shouting  to 
his  fellow  afar  off,  and  numbers  were  stand- 
ing upon  the  carved  benches  and  chairs, 
making  their  comments  upon  the  strange 
scene  and  the  chief  actors  in  it. 

At  one  corner  of  one  of  the  suit  of  apart- 
ments, wherein  the  principal  pari  of  this  as- 
semblage were  crowded,  there  were  two 
persons,  a  little  apart  from  the  crowd  ;  the 
one,  who  looked  to  be  a  Puritan  from  the 
plainness  of  his  suit,  stood  on  an  oak  table 
of  great  strength,  supporting  himself  by 
leaning  against  a  massive  cupboard,  richly 
cai-ved,  that  stood  beside  it  ;  the  other,  whose 
apparelling  had  a  vast  deal  more  of  the  gal- 
lant and  the  soldier  about  it,  to  which  a 
patch  over  one  eye  and  a  well-bronzed  com- 
plexion, were  expressive  additions,  stood  on 
a  cane-backed  chair  almost  at  his  elbow. — 
The  first,  notsvithstanding  a  huge,  rough 
beard,  wore  an  aspect  of  honest  plainness, 
and  seemed  to  take  a  wonderful  interest  in 
the  proceedings,  though  he  said  but  little ; 
but  the  features  of  the  other  were  expressive 
of  more  impudency  than  honesty,  and  his 
tongue  wagged  like  the  clapper  of  a  village 
bell  giving  an  alarm  of  fire,  though  it  is  much 
to  be  douiited  his  heart  was  in  the  cause  he 
had  embarked  in. 

"  Now,  I  pray  you,  good  Master  Puritan," 
said  tiie  latter,  whom  the  reader  will  present- 
ly recognize,  "  cast  your  eyes  beneath  the 
great  window  yonder.     There  are  all  my 


excellent  worthy  friends  and  sworn  brothers 
— persons  with  whom  I  am  as  intimate  as  I 
am  with  my  sword,  the  which,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  is  a  rare  one,  the  right  Toledo. — ■ 
Fore  George,  it  is  not  long  since  it  graced 
the  thigh  of  the  King  of  Spain.'' 

"  The  speaker,  tinding  the  curiosity  of 
his  companion  was  not  then  to  be  drawn  to 
so  goodly  a  weapon,  proceeded — "  Yes,  there 
they  are  by  this  light.  All  of  them  look  up 
to  my  judgment  and  vast  experience  in  mi- 
litary matters,  and  had  comisel  of  me  but 
yesterday  as  to  tiie  conducting  of  this  enter- 
prise. He  with  the  grey  beard  is  Lord  San- 
dys, as  gallant  a  nobleman  as  any  that  lives 
— he  is  talking  urgently  to  Lord  Monteagle 
(he  with  the  slasiied  doublet)  ;  and  Lord 
Rutland,  another  of  my  especial  intimates, 
together  with  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges — he 
that  is  governor  of  Plymouth — and  Sir  John 
Davis,  surveyor  of  the  ordnance,  are  listen- 
ing and  occasionally  joining  in  the  discourse. 
Next  to  Davis  is  John  Lyttieton  of  Frankley, 
a  Worcestershire  man,  not  long  since  knigiit 
of  the  shire  for  that  county,  a  person  of 
great  resolution  and  ability,  my  familiar  and 
sworn  gossip  ;  the  person  who  is  pulling 
him  by  the  sleeve  is  Sir  Gilly  Merrick.  It 
was  he  wlio,  last  night,  bespoke  tlie  play 
of  '  Richard  the  Second,'  at  the  seeing  of 
which  were  nearly  all  who  are  now  in  this 
action." 

The  Puritan,  in  a  sort  of  snuffle,  said 
something  expressive  of  the  iniquity  of  such 
performances ;  but  regarded  the  persons  at 
the  further  end  of  the  chamber  witti  increas- 
ing earnestness. 

'•  Fore  gad,  I  forgot  your  misliking  of 
plays,"  observed  his  communicative  associ- 
ate. But  there  is  a  group  nov/  a  little  to  tlie 
right  of  those  I  have  just  been  naming — 
these  are  of  more  moment  than  all  the 
others.  You  know  none  of  them,  I  doubt 
not,  except  by  casual  observance  ;  but,  if 
you  seek  their  notice,  you  will  find  no  one 
so  like  to  get  it  you  as  I,  in  regard  of  the 
great  love  they  bear  me  for  certain  import- 
ant services  it  hath  been  my  good  fortune  to 
be  able  to  render  them."  This  hint  not  be- 
ing taken  any  notice  of,  the  speaker  conti- 
nued— "  Now,  mark  you  that  stately  gentle- 
man, in  the  falling  collar  and  ruff';  he  in 
the  plain  russet  suit,  with  the  full  beard,  that 
lookcth  so  restless  and  uneasily,  and  speak- 
eth  with  so  great  a  vehemency  ;  see  how 
disdainfully  flash  his  eyes  ;  note  how  proud- 
ly he  beareth  himself,  like  one  grievously 
oppressed,  and  passionately  desirous  of  hav- 
ing his  revenge  of  his  enemies.  Well,  that 
is  no  other  than  my  Lord  of  Essex." 

'Verily,  he  looketh  to  be  a  right  proper 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


leader!" exclaimed  the  other,  with  that  p:ir- 
ticular  nasal  twang  tho}'  oftiio  new  religion 
chose  to  affect. 

"  i5y  this  sword,  yes  !"'  rc[  lied  his  compa- 
nion ;  "  and  of  his  soldier-like  cjiialities  lew 
can  speak  so  contidently  as  can  I,  who  have 
been  his  companion  in  arms  throii(;hout  all 
his  campaigns,  and,  in  truth,  may  besaid  to 
have  been  his  sole  teacher  in  wjiat  he  know- 
etli  of  the  art  of  war.  But  of  this  it  doth  not 
become  mc  to  speak.  Some  say  he  has 
moved  in  this  action  merely  to  oust  his  ene- 
mies, Cecil,  Raleigh,  Cobham.and  the  rest ; 
others  assert  he  will  change  the  common- 
wealth, and  reform  all  abuses  and  disorders 
in  it  ;  and  divers  are  confident  it  is  his  in- 
tention to  bring  in  King  James,  of  Scot- 
land :  but  I,  who  am  so  deep  in  his  confi- 
dence, could  tell  his  meaning  and  objects 
more  faithfully,  chose  I  to  do  so  ;  but,  of 
course,  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  keep  so  great 
a  secret." 

The  Puritan  seemed  to  have  nothing  to 
say  to  a  truth  so  evident;  indeed,  his  whole 
attention  was  directed  towards  the  group 
round  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  He  who  is  so  busy  with  the  Earl,  writ- 
ing at  the  table  before  him,"  continued  t!ie 
otlier,  "  is  my  lord's  secretary,  one  Henry 
CufFe.  He  aiTects  a  clownishness  and  hon- 
est bluntness  of  manner,  but  he  is  shrewdly 
suspected  of  having  secret  ambitious  ends, 
with  a  marvellous  disposition  towards  deep 
plotting  and  far-sighted  policy.  The  Earl 
once  dismissed  hiui  his  service,  assiu'ed  his 
sharp  and  importune  infusions  would  one 
dny  prove  his  ruin ;  but  he  hath  been  so 
politic  in  liis  behavior  as  to  be  again  taken 
into  his  lord's  favor,  and  hath  tlie  credit  of 
being  the  main-spring  of  this  enterprise. 
On  the  other  side  stands  one  of  a  diti'erent 
spirit.  He  is  my  Lord  Southampton,  anoth- 
er of  my  especial  familiars,  and  he  is  lean- 
ing on  his  Iriend  Sir  Charles  Danvers,  who 
hath  been  drawn  by  love  for  him  into  this 
action." 

The  Puritan's  ajiparent  deep  interest  in 
the  group  he  was  obsorvmg  was,  at  this  mo- 
ment, interrupted  by  the  loud  shouting  of 
the  name  of  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges,  and 
great  commotion  was  created  amongst  the 
conspirators  wlien  it  was  known  iliat  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  was  waiting  to  have  speech 
with  him  on  t!ie  river,  'i'he  Earl  of  Essex 
seemed  to  put  himself  into  a  rage  at  the 
first  inention  of  Raleigh's  nanrc,  but  allowed 
Sir  Ferdinando  to  see  what  was  wanted  of 
Jiim,  although  the  Earl  had  given  strict  or- 
ders that  none  of  the  company  should  leave 
the  house.  As  Sir  Ferdinando  took  his  de- 
parture, he  was  counselled  to  seize  Raleigh, 


and   bring  him  in  prisoner,  which  it  was 
thought  Ijy  some  it  was  his  intention  to  do. 

Scarce  was  the  stir  which  this  occasioned 
at  an  (;nd,  when  a  still  more  violent  connno- 
tion  was  occasioned  by  one  coming  in  and 
declaring  that  divers  persons  of  state  from 
the  Queen's  Highness  were  at  the  gates 
demanding  admittance.  This  begat  a  great 
confusion  of  opinions,  some  shouting  to 
keep  them  out,  and  others  to  have  them  in  ; 
and,  at  last,  orders  were  given  to  let  them 
into  the  courtyard  by  the  wicket,  but  not  to 
allow  any  persons  of  any  sort,  to  have  ad- 
mittance with  them.  All  now  hurried  down 
into  the  courtyard,  amongst  others  the  Puri- 
tan and  his  companion ;  the  latter,  from  some 
reason,  kept  close  to  the  other  ;  and,  believ- 
ing him,  as  it  seemed,  to  have  little  or  no 
knowledge  of  the  distinguished  cliaracters 
with  whom  they  were  associated,  he  con- 
tinued his  information  as  to  their  several 
names  and  characters.  From  him  the  Puri- 
tan learned  that  the  personages  tlie  conspir- 
ators were  now  so  eagerly  tlironging  around 
were  the  Lord  Keeper  Egerton,  the  Earl  of 
Worcester,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  Sir 
William  Knowles,  the  comptroller  of  the 
Queen's  Household;  all  of  whom  were  con- 
sidered friends  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  the 
latter  being  his  uncle. 

Tliey  walked  uncovered,  with  a  dignity 
worthy  of  their  office,  through  the  crowd, 
most  of  wdiom  regarded  them  with  looks  of 
malice  and  mischief,  till  they  reached  to 
where  Essex  stood  with  a  proud  and  haugh- 
ty bearing,  surrounded  by  his  principal  as- 
sociates, also  uncovered.  The  Lord  Keeper 
spoke  first,  and  in  an  audible  voice  delivered 
a  message  from  the  queen,  stating  she  had 
sent  them  to  know  the  meaning  of  so  great  a 
concourse  of  people  in  that  place,  and  promis- 
ing, if  tliey  had  any  grids  to  complain  of,  they 
should  be  heard  and  remedied.  This  con- 
ciliatory speech  on  the  rash  and  headstrong 
Earl  had  no  other  efTect  than  to  make  him 
the  more  intent  on  his  desperate  purpose, 
thinking  in  his  own  weak  mind  it  proceeded 
from  fear  ;  and  he  loudly  and  passionately 
replied,  in  confused  assertions,  that  his  life 
was  in  danger  from  the  plotting  of  his  en- 
emies, that  his  handwriting  had  been  forged, 
and  that,  seeing  he  could  get  no  redress,  and 
was  threatened  with  the  horriblest  mischiefs, 
he  and  his  friends  had  resolved  to  defend 
themselves.  This  speech  was  received  by 
those  around  him  by  loud  acclamations. 

Thereupon  the  Lord  Ciiief  Justice  stated 
that,  if  any  such  matters  wei'e  attempted  or 
intended  against  the  Earl,  it  was  lit  ho 
should  declare  it ;  they  would  report  it  faith- 
fully to  her  Highness  ;  and  he  could  not  fail 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


89 


of  finding  a  princely  indifferency  and  justice 
on  her  part.  On  this  the  Lord  Southampton 
spoke,  describing  his  having  been  lately  set 
upon  by  Lord  Grey  of  VVilton,  sword  in 
liand,  when  he  was  quietly  riding  along  one 
of  the  public  streets,  unexpecting  and  un- 
prepared for  such  an  attacii  ;  to  which  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  replied  tliat  justice  had 
been  done  in  that  matter,  the  offender  having 
been  sent  to  tiie  Fleet  Prison.  This  answer 
miglit  have  sutliced;  but  there  were  those 
in  the  courtyard  who,  for  especial  rea.-ons, 
niisHked  any  thing  approaching  a  reconcili- 
ation in  this  stage  of  tlie  business. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  noting  the  mood  of  the 
conspirators,  asked  Essex  to  explain  his 
griefs  privately,  since  lie  would  not  in  pub- 
lic, adding  he  doubted  not  being  able  to  give 
or  procure  hiin  satisfaction.  Jiut  this  was 
not  in  accordance  with  the  intentions  of 
many  of  those  around,  who  interrupted  him 
with  great  clamor,  shouting  to  the  Earl : — 
"  Away,  away,  my  lord  !  Tiiey  abuse  your 
patience  !  They  betray  you  !  They  abuse 
you!  You  lose  time!"  Whereupon  the 
Lord  Keeper  put  on  his  hat,  and  said  to  the 
Earl  with  a  louder  voice  : — "  My  lord,  let  us 
speak  to  you  privately,  and  understand  your 
griefs  ;"  and  then,  turning  to  the  noisy  crowd, 
with  a  grave  and  severe  aspect,  added  : — "  I 
command  you  all  upon  your  allegiance  to 
lay  down  your  weapons,  and  depart." 

This  command,  however,  suited  not  with 
the  humor  of  any  of  the  conspirators  to 
obey,  and  the  ciiiefs  looking  on  it  as  an  at- 
tempt to  draw  their  followers  away  from 
them,  took  it  up  with  much  appearance  of 
disdain.  Essex  and  his  friends  put  on  their 
hats,  and  turned  away  into  the  house  ;  and, 
the  queen's  officers,  thinking  he  made  that 
movement  to  confer  with  them  privately, 
followed  as  they  could.  But  there  was  a 
great  outcry  made  at  them,  and  on  passing 
through  the  principal  suite  of  rooms,  some 
shouted  : — "  Kill  them  !  kill  them  !"  Others, 
of  a  less  sanguinary  turn,  cried  : — '•  Shut 
them  up  !"  "  Keep  them  as  pledges  I"  This 
latter  advice  Essex  thought  tit  to  follow,  for, 
when  they  arrived  at  his  book-chamber,  he 
gave  orders  to  keep  them  fast  there,  and 
gave  them  in  charge  to  three  resolute  fel- 
lows, who  stood  at  tiieir  door  with  muskets 
charged  and  matches  lighted. 

It  was  during  the  confusion  consequent 
upon  this  scene,  that  the  Puritan  made  di- 
vers efforts  to  shake  off  his  gossiping  com- 
panion, who,  nevertheless,  continued  to 
press  upon  him,  introducing  of  himself  with 
many  flourishes  as  Captain  Swashbuckler, 
and  proffering  to  teach  him  the  utmost  cun- 
ning of  fence  for  an  exceding  moderate  re- 


ward ;  and,  when  this  was  impatiently  neg- 
atived, kept  pressing  on  him  with  still  more 
urgency  to  buy  the  King  of  Spain's  trusty 
Toledo  at  the  small  sum  of  ten  crowns. 
At  this  the  Puritan  turned  round  fiercely, 
and,  with  a  look  that  made  the  noble  captain 
feel  exceedingly  uncomfortable  for  a  good 
hour  after,  swore,  with  a  monstrous  oath, 
that  if  he  dared  to  follow  him  a  step  further, 
or  address  to  him  another  word,  he  would 
slit  his  nose  to  the  bone.  Ere  this  valiant 
gentleman  could  recover  from  so  unexpected 
a  mode  of  address,  the  Puritan  was  urging 
his  way  rapidly  through  the  noisy  crowd, 
as  though  to  overtake  my  Lord  Essex  ;  but 
it  was  not  the  Earl  he  sought,  but  the  Lord 
Southampton,  in  whose  ear  he  nnperceived 
whispered  something  which  made  the  young 
nobleman  turn  round  with  a  start  of  intense 
astonishment.  He  looked  bewildered  for  a 
moment ;  then,  making  a  sign  for  the  Puri- 
tan to  follow  him,  he  opened  a  door,  within 
which  both  quickly  disappeared,  and  instant- 
ly fastened  it  to  prevent  intrusion. 

'•  In  the  name  of  all  that's  marvellous, 
Will,  what  bringeth  thee  here  in  this  guise  ?" 
exclaimed  Lord  Southampton,  evidently  in 
a  monstrous  wonder  at  the  appearance  of 
the  person  before  him. 

"  A  good  errand,  my  dear  lord,  and  one 
that  adrnitteth  of  no  delay,"  replied  the  oth- 
er ;  but  in  a  voice  as  different  from  the 
snuffling  drone  with  wliich  the  same  per- 
son but  a  few  minutes  since,  addressed 
himself  to  the  cast  captain,  as  is  a  night- 
ingale's from  an  owl's.  "  You  are  on 
the  high  road  to  destruction.  The  net  is 
spread  tor  you,  and  all  those  who  have  join- 
ed this  rash  and  ill-arranged  enterprise,  and 
you  cannot  help  falling  into  it.  I  pray  you, 
my  lord,  hearken  to  one  who  never  ad- 
vised you  but  for  your  good.  Move  no 
more  in  this  foolish  business,  but  escape 
from  it  whilst  there  is  safety.  This  I  will 
secure  at  the  hazard  of  my  life." 

"  I  thank  you  heartily,  Master  Shaks- 
peare?"  exclaimed  his  young  patron,  press- 
ing his  hand  affectionately.  "'  I  am  well 
assured  of  your  heartiness  to  serve  me  at 
all  times,  but  1  am  so  bent  on  this  action,  I 
cannot  give  it  up  ;  and,  as  for  the  desperate 
character  you  give  it,  be  assured  you  have 
been  misinformed" — then,  observing  some 
sign  of  impatience  in  the  other,  added : — 
"  Know  you  not  that  Essex  countoth  upon  a 
hundred  and  twenty  earls,  barons,  and  gen- 
tlemen of  his  party  ;  that  the  citizens  of 
London  are  with  him  heart  and  soul  ;  and 
that  Sir  Thomas  Smitli,  one  of  the  sheriffs, 
is  to  support  him  with  a  thousand  train- 
bands, of  whom  he  hath  the  command  ?  By 


90 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


this  hand,  sweet  Will,  we  cannot  but  pros- 
per.    We  are  sure  of  success." 

"  Nay,  such  is  out  of  all  possibility,"  re- 
plied Master  Shukspearc.  "  I  have  certain 
intelligence  that  every  preparation  has  been 
made  to  defeat  the  objects  for  wiiich  you  are 
striving  so  ill-advisedly,  and  they  have  been 
made  with  such  judgment  that  the  issue  can- 
not be  doubted.  Tiie  Lord  Mayor  hath  been 
warned  of  your  projects,  and  an  intinitely 
stronger  force  than  any  you  can  get  togeth- 
er is  on  its  march  to  overpower  you,  and 
make  you  all  prisoners.  Let  me  beg  and 
pray  of  you,  my  dear  friend  and  patron,  to 
abandon  this  mad  scheme  at  once.  I  have 
arranged  a  plan  for  your  escape  that  can- 
not fail.  I  entreat  you  to  save  a  life  so 
dear  to  me !" 

"You  must  be  misinformed,  Will!"  ex- 
claimed the  young  lord,  much  moved.  "  I 
am  greatly  beliolden  to  you  for  your  urgency 
to  do  me  service,  but  in  this  matter  ic  can- 
not be.  Mine  own  grievances  have  not 
been  few  or  trifling.  1  have  endured  a  long 
imprisonment,  for  no  greater  fault  than  mar- 
rying for  mine  own  liking.  1  was  degraded 
from  my  command  as  JNIaster  of  the  Horse, 
for  no  reason  of  any  sutHciency  ;  and  I  have 
been  attacked  in  the  open  streets,  with  no 
more  ceremony  than  might  be  used  to  a 
common  cut-purse." 

"  I  know  it  all,  my  lord,"  answered  his 
companion,  urgently.  "  You  have  good 
cause  for  complaint,  there  cannot  be  a 
doubt.  But  your  appearing  in  arms  against 
your  sovereign,  the  which  you  are  now 
doing,  is  of  all  things  the  surest  road  to 
prejudice  your  good  cause  irretrievably. 
Once  more,  my  dear  lord,  I  pray  and  be- 
seech you  to  take  heed  whilst  it  is  time. 
Leave  this  wretched  plot  to  the  wretched 
fate  that  must  overtake  it.  Pardon  hatii 
been  promised  you  from  a  sure  hand.  Quit 
this  place,  and  allow  me  the  singular  sweet 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  truest  friend  man 
ever  had,  out  of  the  most  imminent  and  ter- 
rible danger  that  could  touch  him." 

"  Nay,  Master  Shakspeare,  it  cannot  be," 
said  my  Lord  Southampton,  resolutely,  yet 
much  aflected  by  his  friend's  urgent  entrea- 
ties. "  Melhinks  I  am  bound  in  honor  to 
see  my  kinsman  through  this  perilous  action 
of  his,  if  perilous  it  be.  Come  weal  or 
woe,  I  must  share  it." 

In  vain  did  Master  Shakspeare  strive  to 
move  his  resolution,  by  showing  he  could  do 
the  Earl  no  good  by  involving  himself  in 
his  guilt.  He  would  hearken  to  no  counsel 
of  the  sort,  but  commenced  urging  ins  friend 
to  secure  his  own  safety  as  quickly  as  he 


could.  But  Master  Shakspeare  had  too  great 
a  love  for  the  youth  who  had  shown  to  him 
so  much  nobleness  of  soul,  and  resolved  at 
least  to  watch  over  his  safety  throughout 
the  adventure. 

Lord  Southampton  did  again  and  again 
urge  him  to  put  himself  out  of  danger,  but 
the  other  roundly  stated  that,  an  he  would 
not  escape  with  him  he  must  share  his  for- 
tune, for  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to 
leaving  so  estimable  choice  a  friend  to  cer- 
tain destruction.  It  was  useless  wasting 
time  in  such  a  debate,  with  natures  so  de- 
termined ;  so  at  last  they  made  out  of  the 
room  as  privily  as  they  had  entered,  and 
mingled  unnoticed  with  the  crowd,  who 
were  now  hurrying  out  of  the  house ;  the 
Earl  having  set  himself  at  the  head  of  two 
hundred  of  the  boldest  of  his  followers,  who 
were  sallying  forth  with  the  intention  of 
raising  the  city. 

But  a  force  less  likely  to  do  any  essential 
service  in  so  stirring  a  business  there  could 
not  well  be.  Few  were  in  any  way  provided 
as  soldiers,  the  greater  part  having  no  wea- 
pons but  their  rapiers,  and  no  defence  but 
their  cloaks  wrapped  about  their  arms.  Nev- 
ertheless, they  sallied  forth  full  of  conti- 
dence ;  the  which  was  greatly  increased  by 
their  being  joined  by  one  or  two  small  par- 
ties, among  whom  were  the  Earl  of  Bedford, 
the  Lord  Cromwell,  and  a  few  other  persons 
of  distinction. 

My  Lord  Southampton  made  his  way  to 
his  kinsman,  and  the  pretended  Puritan  kept 
as  close  at  his  heels  as  he  could  get.  The 
party  entered  the  city  at  Ludgate,  preceded 
by  the  Earl,  shouting  lustily,  "  For  the 
Queen  !  For  the  Queen  !  A  plot  is  laid 
for  my  life  !  England  is  bought  and  sold  to 
the  Spaniards  !" — the  which  none  doubted 
would  send  every  man  and  apprentice  who 
heard  it,  with  their  weapons  ready,  eager  to 
swell  their  ranks ;  but,  to  the  surprise  and 
consternation  of  all,  not  one  person  joineil 
them.  Devoted  as  the  citizens  were  to  Es- 
sex, he  could  not  account  for  this  utter  de- 
sertion of  him.  In  vain  he  repeated  his 
cry  as  he  proceeded — every  house  was  as 
quiet  as  though  the  plague  had  swept  away 
all  its  inmates :  and  neither  man  nor  boy 
was  to  be  seen. 

The  conspirators  liked  not  this  appearance 
of  things  at  all,  as  was  evident  from  their 
blank  visages  ;  but  when,  on  going  through 
Cheapside,  towards  Fen  Church,  und  arriv- 
ing at  Sheriff'  Suiith's  house,  where  such 
mighty  succors  were  expected,  they  found 
every  dwelling  closed  and  apparently  de- 
serted, many  began  to  repent  them  of  joining 
a  plot  60  badly  sujjported. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


91 


"  Where  is  the  Sheriff  ?"  cried  the  Earl. 
"  Let  him  brinjr  muskets  and  pistols.  It  is 
for  the  good  of  the  Queen,  and  for  you  all, 
my  masters  ;  for  I  am  credibly  informed,  out 
of  Ireland,  that  the  kingdom  of  England  is 
sold  to  the  Spaniards." 

Alack,  no  Sheriff  was  to  be  seen.  Ho 
had  withdrawn  from  his  house  by  a  back 
door,  and  hastened  to  the  Lord  Mayor.  Es- 
sex entered  his  dwelling  faint  unto  death. 
His  folly  and  madness  seemed  now  for  the 
first  time  placed  properly  before  him ;  but  he 
made  a  struggle  to  disguise  his  feelings  by 
calling  boisterously  for  refreshments,  and 
linen  to  shift  himself,  for  the  intenseness  of 
his  anxiety  had  caused  him  to  sweat  at 
every  pore. 

The  faces  of  the  principal  conspirators 
wore  an  uneasy  expression,  which  did  not 
lessen  when  w(ird  was  brought  that  Lord 
Burleigh  (Cecil's  elder  brother),  and  Geth- 
ick  Garter,  King  at  Arms,  witli  a  few  horse, 
had  entered  the  city,  and  had  proclaimed 
Essex  and  his  adherents  traitors;  and  that 
the  Earl  of  Cumberland,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Garard,  Knight  Marshal,  made  a  like  pro- 
clamation in  other  parts  of  the  city.  It  was 
then  that  Master  Shakspeare  drew  his 
young  patron  on  one  side,  and  urged  him, 
with  increased  eloquence,  to  provide  for  his 
safety ;  but  the  young  nobleman  had  too 
gallant  a  spirit  to  allow  of  his  abandoning 
his  friend  wlien  his  fortune  looked  desper- 
ate :  nevertheless,  he  very  affectionately 
entreated  of  his  attached  friend  to  endanger 
himself  no  longer  by  remaining  with  him, 
but  this  the  other  would  not  hear  of,  still 
hoping  to  be  able  to  free  him  from  the  peril- 
ous condition  in  which  he  had  placed  him- 
se\L 

Presently,  my  Lord  Essex  started  off  with 
his  followers,  thoroughly  hopeless  of  doing 
of  himself  any  benetit,  yet  not  so  despair- 
ing as  to  give  up  the  attempt.  He  called 
upon  tlie  citizens  to  arm,  and  assured 
tliem  that  England  was  sold  to  the  In- 
tanta  of  Spain  ;  but  not  one  obeyed  his 
summons,  or  took  any  heed  of  his  intelli- 
gence. His  followers  were  now  leaving 
him  rapidly  ;  and,  when  it  became  known 
that  the  Lord  Admiral,  with  a  strong  force, 
was  hastening  to  attack  them,  desertion  be- 
came still  more  frequent. 

After  a  brief  consultation,  it  was  derided 
that  the  conspirators  should  return  to  Essex 
House  as  speedily  as  they  could,  and  obtain 
their  pardon  by  the  release  of  the  queen's 
officers  there  imprisoned.  Hearing  that  the 
gate  at  which  he  entered  the  city  was  now 
well  guarded,  Essex  sent  forward  Sir  Ferdi- 
nando  Gorges  alone,  to  release  the  Lord 


Chief  Justice,  and  make  the  best  terms  he 
could,  and  took  his  way  with  his  company 
by  Paul's  ;  but  at  the  West  Gate  they  were 
stopped  by  a  chain  drawn  across  the  street, 
having  pikemen  and  musqueteers  to  defend 
it.  The  Earl  drew  his  sword,  and  ordered 
his  followers  to  fall  on.  Lord  Southampton 
obeyed  the  command  eagerly,  and  the  pre- 
tended Puritan  started  forward  to  endeavor 
to  guard  him  from  harm.  A  skirmish  en- 
sued, and  one  or  two  were  killed  and  wound- 
ed on  both  sides,  but  Essex  was  repulsed, 
and  a  shot  through  his  hat  showed  how  near 
he  had  been  to  add  to  the  list  of  mischances. 
He  was  allowed  to  turn  off  to  Queenhithe 
unpursued,  where  he  and  his  company  took 
boats,  and  in  due  time  landed  at  Essex 
House. 

When  the  Earl  arrived  within  his  own 
dwelling,  he  and  the  rest  were  greatly  as- 
tonished to  find  that  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges, 
out  of  a  care  of  his  own  safety,  had  releas- 
ed the  four  prisoners,  and  had  gone  with 
them  by  water  to  court.  Essex  had  now 
no  hope,  save  in  the  remote  one  of  the  Lon- 
doners coming  to  his  relief.  •  He  felt  con- 
fused and  distracted  by  his  danger,  burnt 
whatever  papers  might  con^proniise  him, 
and  gave  directions  for  fortifying  his  house, 
intending  to  defend  it  to  the  last  extremity. 
He  had  little  time  for  consideration.  He 
found  it  invested  with  a  force  likely  to  over- 
power all  opposition.  On  the  land  side 
were  the  Earls  of  Cumberland  and  Lincoln, 
the  Lords  Thomas  Howard,  Grey,  Burleigh, 
and  divers  others  of  note,  with  a  strong 
force  of  horse  and  foot ;  wliilst  the  garden 
was  tilled  with  the  Lord  Admiral,  his  son 
Lord  Effingham,  Lord  Cobham,  Sir  John 
Stanhope,  Sir  Robert  Sidney,  Sir  Fulke 
Greville,  and  a  sufficiency  of  foot-soldiers 
preparing  to  attack  it  on  the  river  side. 

Whilst  the  majority  of  the  conspirators 
were  overwhelmned  with  consternation  at 
these  preparations,  increased  by  the  fright 
of  certain  ladies  who  were  amongst  them, 
Sir  Robert  Sidney  came,  by  the  Lord  Ad- 
miral's order,  to  summon  them  to  surrender. 
But  some  of  them  had  spirits  worthy  of  a 
better  cause. 

"  To  whom  ?"  cried  Southampton,  boldly. 
"  To  our  enemies  ?  That  would  be  running 
headlong  to  destruction.  To  the  Queen  '? 
That  were  to  confess  ourselves  guilty.  Yet, 
if  the  Lord  Admiral  will  give  us  hostages 
for  our  security,  we  will  appear  before  the 
Queen  ;  if  not,  we  are,  every  one,  resolved 
to  die  in  our  defence." 

To  this  spirited  speech,  the  Lord  Admiral 
returned  for  reply,  that  conditions  were  not 
to  be  propounded  by  rebels,  nor  hostages 


92 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


given  to  tliem;  but  he  informed  Essex  tliat' 
he  would  permit  his  Countess,  and  Lady 
Rich,  his  sister,  and  their  wuitinjj  gentle- 
woman, to  go  out.  Th(;  earl  tooii  this  as  a 
favor,  but  asked  an  hour  or  two  to  fortify 
the  place,  by  which  tliey  should  go  forth. 
This  was  readily  granted. 

"  Now,  my  lord,"  whispered  Master 
Shakspeare  to  his  young  patron,  seizing  op- 
portunity for  doing  so  unobserved,"  prythee, 
be  persuaded  to  your  good.  Your  cause  is 
lost,  as  I  full  well  knew  it  would  be,  and 
you  cannot  do  yourself,  or  any  other,  the 
slightest  benetit  by  clinging  to  it.  Escape 
is  still  open  to  you.  Trust  yourself  to  me, 
I  pray  you,  and  I  doubt  not  being  able  to 
bring  you  ofFscathless  even  now." 

'•  Thanks,  sweet  Will,  a  thousand  times," 
replied  Lord  Southampton,  eagerly.  "But, 
as  I  wanted  to  partake  of  Essex's  good  for- 
tune, mcthinks  it  would  not  be  well  in  me 
to  shrink  from  sharing  his  bad." 

His  friend  intreated  and  prayed,  and  used 
every  argument  of  force,  but  the  young  lord 
was  not  to  be  moved.  Master  Shakspeare 
knew  not  now  what  course  to  adopt.  He  was 
loath  to  leave  him  to  the  sure  destruction 
he  was  courting,  and  saw  no  prospect  of 
advantage  in  remaining  to  share  the  fate  of 
those  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  As  for 
the  conspiracy,  he  hated  it  with  all  his  soul ; 
and  for  those  engaged  in  it  he  had  no  sympa- 
thy, save  only  in  his  generous  young  patron, 
for  whom  ho  felt  so  deep  an  interest,  he 
could  not  be  induced  by  any  consideration 
for  his  own  safety  to  leave  at  so  perilous  a 
moment. 

All  this  time,  Essex  and  a  few  other  of 
the  leaders  strove  to  keep  a  good  face  on 
the  desperateness  of  their  fortunes.  Pre- 
parations were  made  for  a  vigorous  defence, 
and  divers  talked  of  dying  sword  in  hand, 
as  became  their  quality.  But  most  were 
wild  with  afTright,  and  even  the  Earl  acted 
in  a  confused  violent  manner,  as  though  he 
knew  not  what  to  be  about.  Now  lie  abused 
the  citizens  as  a  base  people,  and  boasted 
he  could  take  the  whole  city  with  four  hun- 
dred men  ;  anon  he  threatened  to  force  his 
way  through  his  enemies,  and  seek  to  es- 
cape with  his  followers  to  Ireland ;  and  then 
he  spoke  of  the  goodness  of  his  cause,  witii 
a  great  show  of  bravery,  and  seemed  to  find 
consolation  in  its  miscarriage.  But  all  this 
vaporing  ended  in  nothing.  The  conspira- 
tors, before  the  time  had  (>xj)ircd,had  agreed 
to  surrender  upon  conditions;  and  wlien 
the  Lord  Aduiiral  would  agree  to  none,  they 
were  fain  to  do  without,  and  presently  they 
gave  up  their  weapons,  and  were  taken  into 
custody. 


It  is  presumed  that  the  assumed  Puritan 
had  some  understanding  with  the  Lord 
High  Admiral,  or  other  great  person,  for  he 
managed  to  get  himself  at  large,  when  all, 
in  whose  company  he  had  been,  were  pro- 
ceeding to  their  prisons;  but,  in  the  first 
moment  of  his  freedom,  he  resolved  to  use 
it  for  the  advantage  of  the  gallant  and  ex- 
cellent young  nobleman,  to  whom  he  felt 
himself  so  largely  indebted,  and  was  assured 
such  would  not  be  entirely  profitless. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Break,  Fantasy,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud, 

And  spread  thy  purple  wings  ; 
Now  all  thy  figures  are  allowed. 
And  various  shapes  of  things  ; 
Create  of  airy  forms  a  stream, 
It  must  have  blood  and  nought  of  phlegm  ; 
And  though  it  be  a  waking  dream, 
Yet  let  it  like  an  odor  rise 

To  all  the  senses  here, 
And  fall  like  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 
Or  music  in  their  ear. 

Ben  Jonson. 

Time,  in  his  steady  flight,  seeth  many 
changes,  but  rarely  any  more  marked  than 
such  as  were  created  in  the  period  that 
elapsed  betwixt  the  last  chapter  and  the 
present. 

The  .strange  and  powerful  sway  of  those 
melancholic  humors  which  had  visited  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  with  such  uncontrollable 
vehemency  ever  since  the  death  of  his  sweet 
young  son,  appeared  now  to  have  gathered 
such  head,  that,  when  his  thoughts  travelled 
that  way,  he  seemed  quickly  to  lose  all  con- 
sciousness of  surrounding  circumstances, 
and  to  give  up  every  sense  to  the  considera- 
tion of  the  huge  grief  that  prayed  upon  his 
spirits.  What  this  grief  might  be,  none 
knew.  None  even  guessed  that  a  gentle- 
man, so  prodigal  with  his  pleasant  jests, 
when  surrounded  with  proper  company,  was, 
when  left  to  his  own  sad  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, the  very  miserablest  wretch  that  can 
be  conceived. 

Frequently  was  it  that  he  looked  to  bo 
overpowered  witii  a  heaviness  that  wrapped 
him  all  around  like  a  shroud,  and,  from  his 
aspect,  there  might  be  read  an  anguish  that 
was  wont  to  probe  him  to  tiie  fpiick.  Could 
it  arise  solely  from  a  consideration  of  tiie 
great  loss  his  allections  had  sustained  by 
the  death  of  the  youthful  llaumet?  Could 
it  be  occasioned  solely  by  the  exceeding  un- 
satisfactory nature  of  his  domestic  afHiirs  ? 
Might  it  arise  from  disappointed  ambition — 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


93 


loss  of  friends — or  deficiency  of  worldly 
wealth  ?  Or,  did  it  proceed  from  the  recol- 
lection of  some  offence  of  very  monstrous 
evil,  the  consideration  whereof  smote  him 
terribly  ?  Hamnet's  death,  of  a  surety,  was 
an  intolerable  blow  to  his  happiness ;  but, 
since  the  doleful  day  it  liappened.  Time,  the 
sure  alleviator  of  human  affliction,  had  ex- 
ercised his  reconciling  influence,  and  closed, 
thoutrh  it  could  never  entirely  heal,  the 
wound  it  iiad  made.  Philosophy,  perchance, 
did  something  towards  banishing  all  useless 
regrets  ;  but  philosopiiy  hath  but  a  small 
hold  upon  the  heart  of  a  doating  parent, 
from  whom  the  object  of  its  inhnite  love 
hath  been  untimely  snatched  away. 

There  was  much  in  the  state  of  his  home, 
which,  to  one  of  quick  senjibility,  like  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  might  liive  afforded  most  in- 
tolerable reflections.  That  any  of  his  am- 
bitious views  had  failed  in  fulhlling  their 
promises,  is  very  much  to  be  doubted,  seeing 
the  position  he  had  gained  in  society  by  the 
proper  influence  of  his  own  greatness.  Of 
loss  of  friends  he  might  complain.  His  royal 
patroness,  who  had  held  him  in  such  honor- 
able estimation  throughout  his  career,  liad 
died  full  of  years  and  glory,  but  of  a  heart 
broken  by  vain  regrets  for  the  loss  of  her 
unworthy  favorite,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  who 
had  perished  by  the  hand  of  the  headsman 
for  his  treasonable  practice-.  His  still  more 
generous  friend,  the  young  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, h  id  been  kept  a  close  prisoner,  for 
his  share  in  Essex's  treason,  up  to  the 
Queen's  death  :  a  worse  fate  would  have  at- 
tended him,  had  not  the  loving  friend  who 
strove  so  earnestly  to  get  him  out  of  the 
conspiracy,  employed  all-powerful  appeals 
for  the  saving  of  his  life.  He  had  received 
certain  intelligence  that  another  of  his  esti- 
mable friends.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  was  like 
to  be  in  as  pitiful  a  case  as  my  iiord  South- 
ampton, from  the  coming  of  the  Scottish 
king  to  the  throne  of  these  realms,  in  whom 
the  very  strongest  prejudices  against  Sir 
Walter  had  been  artfully  raised  by  his  rivals, 
Cecil  and  Essex. 

Therefore,  loss  of  friends  might  have 
gone  some  way  towards  exciting  melan- 
choly humors.  Yet  was  Master  Shakspeare 
so  richly  off  in  this  respect,  the  few  who 
were  taken  away  were  not  like  to  be  missed 
so  greatly  as  to  throw  so  thick  a  gloom  over 
his  spirits  as  had  oppressed  them.  But,  as 
to  the  only  other  cause  we  have  hinted  at — 
what  offence  could  there  be  in  one  of  so 
honorable  a  way  of  living  that  could  touch 
him  so  nearly  as  the  hidden  cause  of  his 
huge  trouble  appeared  to  do  ?  We  doubt 
there   could   exist    anything  of    the   sort. 


Nevertheless,  Master  Shakspeare  had  a 
heart  so  ill  at  ease,  no  man  would  have  en- 
vied him,  could  he  have  known  what  an  in- 
finite lack  of  comfort  he  possessed. 

But  who  could  have  guessed  he  had  so 
much  as  the  slightest  uneasiness  of  any 
sort  ?  In  whatever  play  chanced  to  be  be- 
fore the  audience,  he  so  forgot  himself  in 
the  performance  of  his  part,  that  the  spec- 
tators might  reasonably  enough  have  judged 
him  to  have  nothing  in  his  own  nature  to 
complain  of,  or  regret,  of  sufticient  import 
to  call  him  from  his  feigning  for  one  minute. 
In  the  company  of  his  brother-players,  and 
all  the  nimble  wits  and  learned  spirits  with 
whom  he  associated,  he  looked  to  be  of  so 
happy  a  mind,  he  displayed  ever  so  prodigal 
an  abundance  of  pleasant  tlionghts  and  ad- 
mirable witty  jests,  and  was  at  all  times  so 
ready  to  add  to,  rather  than  share  in,  the 
general  entertainment,  that  few  who  observ- 
ed him  could  have  thought  of  saying, 
"  This  gentleman  hath  griefs.  He  is  dis- 
tracted with  trouble.  He  is  as  sick  at  heart 
as  a  man  who  hath  not  a  hope  in  the  world." 

This  unhappy  gentleman,  then,  for  so 
methinks  wo  must  needs  consider  him,  sat 
in  his  lodging,  in  the  Clink  Liberty,  in  a 
deep  fit  of  profound  abstractedness,  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand  as  he  leaned  upon  the 
table,  and  his  noble  visage  wearing  an  as- 
pect so  sad  and  woe-begone,  the  feeling 
that  had  caused  it  evidently  lay  as  deep  in 
the  heart  as  it  well  could.  Before  him  were 
many  papers  and  books,  and  implements  of 
writing,  but  they  seemed  to  be  thrust  on 
one  side,  as  though  the  owner  cared  not  to 
have  aught  to  do  with  them.  Amongst  the 
papers  was  one  which  appeared  to  have 
been  recently  written.  It  seemed  at  first  to 
be  fragments  of  verse  ;  but,  on  a  closer 
look,  these  would  be  found  to  be  divers  small 
poems,  much  affected  by  the  writers  of  that 
period,  under  the  name  of  Somiets.  They 
were  thus  entitled  : — 

A  NEW   PARADISE   OF   DAINTY  DE- 
VICES. 

I.    PLATTETART   INFLUEJJCE. 

A  radiant  star  within  tli'  empyrian  dwelt ; 

It  stood  confessed  a  glorious  Cynosure, 

Shedding  a  light  around  so  bright,  so  pure, 
That  as  I  gazed,  with  throbbing  heart  I  knelt, 

"  Oh,  would,"  quoth  I,  "  I  might  thy  rays  se- 
cure !" 
(Marvel  not  I  such  covetousness  felt 

With  such  temptation)     Ah!  those  starry 
beams 

Had  shed  their  beauty  on  another's  dreams. 
Yet  deep  within  my  heart  I  nurtured  still 

The  love  that  fed  upon  its  rosy  streams — 


94 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Still  hoped,  still  prayed  for  it  with  eager  will, 
And  turned  away  Irom  all  the  sliiniaar  wealth, 

That  woo'd  nie  oft  from  Heaven's  sapphire  hill, 
That  one  proud  star  to  idolize  by  stealth. 

II.    A    COMPARISON. 

Behold  the  jewel-hunter,  searching  well, 

With  a  most  curious  eye,  the  mountain-tops, 
Each  rock,  and  ravine,  cleft,  and  hidden  cell, 

Where   from   the  soil  the  shining  treasure 
drops — 

He  suddenly  with  admiration  stops, 
As  if  entranced  by  some  secret  spell ; 

For  naught  of  emerald,  or  amethyst, 
Or  costly  stone,  that  his  experience  knew 
With  such  bright  sheen,  or  with  so  rich  a  hue, 

Dazzled  his  gaze  on  fairest  ear  or  wrist. 
As  doth  a  gem  now  flashing  on  his  view  : 

Enriched  thus,  thus  wondering  I  exist. 
Thus  found  I  thee,  and  in  my  loving  sight 
Art  thou  ray  perfect,  matchless  chrysolite. 

III.    THE   soul's    LOXGING. 

I  dreamt  a  dream  of  marvellous  good  intent, 
The  harbinger  (would  'twere  !)  of  coming 
bliss ; 
And  thou,  fair  seer,  shall  tell  me  what  it  meant, 

For  thou  alone  canst  well  interpret  this. 
Methought  an  angel  had  from   Heaven  been 
sent, 
Whose  starry  wings  the  air  seemed  proud  to 
kiss  ;    , 
Quoth  he,  "  Thy  struggles  have  not  been  in 

vain, 
And  for  thy  suff'rings  passed,  name  now  thy 
gain — 
What  thy  soul   yearns  for,  say,  and   all   is 
thine." 
Then  not  a  moment's  space  did  I  refrain 
From  uttering  longings,  precious  as  the  mine, 
Countless  as  mates  within  the  glad  sunshine  ; 
For  beauty,  honor,  in  the  first  degree  ; 
For  all  things  that  are  excellent — for  Thee  I 

IV.     THE    TRUE    PHCENIX. 

In  the  old  time,  as  ancient  bards  rehearse. 
In  many  a  legend  of  barbaric  verse, 

Where  Araby  exhales  her  spicy  breath, 
There  came  a  wondrous  bird,  but  rarely  seen; 

That  drew  a  new  existence  from  its  death, 

Whereat,  duubtless,  the  reader  marvelletli. 
This  wonder  therein  scarce  such  time  had  been 

A  pile  of  goodly  incense  to  have  laid, 
When  there  arose  a  fierce,  consuming  tire 

That  burned  it  utterly — which  did  not  fade. 
Ere  a  new  bird  sprung  from  the  funeral  pyre  I 
Love  is  to  me  the  Pluunix  poets  mean, 

Which  in  its  sweets  a  flaming  bed  hath  made. 
Whence  it  doth  new  and  perfect  life  acquire. 

V.    THE   PASSIONATE   PILGRIM. 
The  pilgrim  who,  with  weary  feet  and  slow. 
Travels  his  sacred  journey  anxiously. 


Measuring,  with  a  self-inflicted  woe 
And  earnest  pray'rs,  that  heed  not  pang  or 
throe, 

Each  step  he  taketh,  feels  and  acts  as  I, 
Who,  having  set  myself  a  pilgrimage 

Unto  a  shrine  of  pure  excellency. 
Do  tread  on  thorny  ways,  and  constant  wage 

A  warfare  with  myself— a  sharp  infliction — 

A  sense  of  some  most  grievous  direlection 
Unworthy  of  the  goodness  I  have  .=ought. 

Say  in  what  moving  terms,  what  passionate 
diction, 
Shall  I,  sweet  saint !  thine  ear  and  heart  engage. 
To  be  absolved  in  feeling  and  in  thought. 

VI.    A  GREAT    OFFENCE    GREATLY    PUNISHED. 

The  sun  hath  drawn  his  curtain  in  the  West, 

Where  the  tired  hours  do  chaunt  his  lullaby  ; 
And  Heaven's  Argus  eyes  now  watch  the  rest 

In  which  the  weary  world  doth  calnfly  lie. 

The  blossoms  now  their  oderous  alms  deny, 

Folded  in  dreams  on  Nature's  bounteous  breast. 

The  nightingale,  nor  time  nor  tune  doth  keep — 

E'en  the  rude  winds,  bound  in  their  caverns 

deep. 

Murmur  their  vespers  with  a  holy  care. 
All  things  in  earth  and  heav'n  seemed  hushed 
in  sleep, 

All  things  save  I — I  no  such  blessing  share. 
Punished  like  him  who  stole  th'  immortal  tire 

A  vulture's  beak  my  vitals  seems  to  tear — 
Fit  recompense  for  those  damned  by  such  proud 
desire. 

Whether  any  passage  in  the  writer's  life 
of  some  singular  deep  import  is  marked  out 
in  the  foregoing  poems  must  be  left  to  the 
con.sideration  of  the  sagacious  reader.  It 
may  be  thouglit  they  appear  to  indicate  an 
attachment  on  the  pail  of  the  inditer  of 
these  sonnets  to  some  fair  creature  of  tlio 
other  sex  very  far  above  him  in  rank,  which 
had  been  the  cause  to  him  of  exceeding 
trouble  both  of  heart  and  of  mind.  Never- 
theless, it  may  be  looked  upon  merely  as  a 
device  of  the  imagination,  which  hath  in  it 
no  reality  of  any  sort,  the  poet  having,  in 
the  exercise  of  his  vocation,  fancied  a 
mistress  under  the  circumstances  related, 
whereof  both  circumstances  and  sentiments 
had  no  other  origin  in  his  fruitful  brain. 

Of  these  two  views,  the  reader  may  in- 
cline to  either.  But  we  will  obtain  for  him 
the  perusal  of  anotiier  paper  from  the  same 
source,  which  perchance  may  assist  his 
judgment.  This  was  entitled  after  the  fol- 
lowing fashion : — 

THE   GROWTH   OF   LOVE. 

In  those  warm  climates  nearest  to  the  sun 
The  flow'rs  and  fruits  a  wondious  nurture 
show  ; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


95 


The  breezes  fan  them,  and  their  part  is  done, 
The  sunbeams  kiss  them,  and  they  bud  and 
blow. 

So  'tis  with  love  in  this  warm  heart  of  mine  : 
It  springs  at  once  to  highest  perfectness  ; 

It  blooms  as  sunny  looks  upon  it  shine. 
And  the  fruit  ripens  'neath  the  first  caress. 

A    DOUBLE    ENCHANTMENT. 

Within  those  orbs  a  trembling  radiance  dwells, 
Full   of  strange  charms,  and  soul-enthralling 

spells ; 
Whilst  round  those  tempting  lips  such  magic 

lies 
As  overpow'rs  th'  enchantment  of  thine  eyes. 
Yet  still  the  witcheries  of  thy  gaze  I  seek, 
Still  own  the  smiling  bondage  of  thy  cheek  ; 
But  if  one  spell  the  other  should  echpse, 
Oh,  bind  me  in  the  magic  of  thy  lips  ! 

Of  a  surety,  if  the  sonnets  do  not  speak 
sufficiently  of  love,  there  must  needs  be 
enough  of  it  in  the  sugared  poems  the  reader 
hath  just,  perused.  But  it  may  be  advanced 
that  in  them  there  may  chance  to  be  no 
more  of  reality  than  in  the  other.  For 
mine  own  part,  I  am  inclined  to  the  belief 
that  the  writer  of  each  and  all  these  poems 
was  in  earnest  when  they  were  written  by 
liim,  and  that  he  hath  therein  figured  out 
his  own  particular  thouglits  and  feelings  re- 
garding an  individual  by  whom  they  had 
been  powerfully  excited  under  circumstan- 
ces obscurely  hinted  at  in  one  of  the  son- 
nets. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  improbable  in  en- 
tertaining such  a  view  of  the  matter.  At 
an  early  stage  in  his  career,  eminently  qual- 
ified as  he  was  both  by  appearance  and  un- 
paralleled gifts  of  mind  to  please  the  eye 
and  captivate  the  heart  of  any  fair  creature 
disposed  to  be  enamored  of  such  qualities, 
liis  prominence  in  the  public  gaze,  under 
the  double  advantage  of  an  admired  player 
and  admirable  writer  of  plays,  could  scarce 
fail  of  giving  ample  opportunity  for  some 
doting  nature  of  tliis  sort  to  regard  Jiim  with 
a  sweet  yet  dangerous  sympathy.  It  is  tiie 
natural  disposition  of  passion  to  level  dis- 
tinctions and  smooth  obstacles  of  the  diffi- 
cultest  kind ;  and  it  was  no  unusual  thing, 
in  the  age  sought  to  be  pictured  in  these 
pages,  for  a  gentlewoman  of  high  estate 
and  lineage  to  give  the  entire  devotedness 
of  an  uncalculating  and,  alas  !  unthinking 
affection,  to  some  individual  of  the  other 
sex,  whose  natural  or  acquired  gifts  were 
in  her  estimation  infinitely  preferable  to  for- 
tune, birth,  and  the  like  estimable  qualities. 

That  the  development  of  such  a  sympa- 
thy took  place  clandestinely  is  rather  to  be 
deplored  than   wondered  at.     The  obliga- 


tions the  young  poet  had  already  contracted 
must  have  rendered  the  entertainment  of 
any  feelings  of  the  sort  an  offence  not  to  be 
justified  :  but  we  are  fearful  that  passion 
hath  no  considerations  for  what  is  strictly 
creditable  and  honest,  and  that,  however 
excellently  disposed  in  other  respects,  a 
youth,  scarce  twenty,  full  of  the  irrepressi- 
ble yearnings  that  form  so  prominent  a  part 
in  the  influences  which  do  commonly  gov- 
ern the  humanity  of  all  the  higher  order  of 
intellects  in  early  manhood,  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected to  withstand  so  powerful  a  tempta- 
tion as  is  presented  to  the  senses  in  the 
kindling  glances  of  a  fair  creature  of  ex- 
quisite loveliness,  forgetful  of  difterences  of 
degree,  and  indeed  of  whatsoever  should 
most  rule  the  conduct  of  one  of  her  condi- 
tion, in  an  uncontrollable  admiration  of  him 
and  his  works. 

The  love  of  woman  is  the  exquisitest  in- 
toxication under  all  circumstances,  to  any 
man  of  truly  manly  feelings,  but  when  the 
most  complete  self-abandonment  is  evidenced 
in  her  love,  with  the  most  earnest  idolatry, 
what  man  of  woman  born  is  there  who  could 
resist  her  affection  ? 

The  young  poet,  in  whom  love  is  the  very 
breath  of  his  being,  and  whose  noblest 
thoughts  and  feelings  can  be  nurtured  only 
by  intimate  communion  with  the  many  ad- 
mirable sweet  qualities  a  loving  woman 
possesses,  of  a  surety  is  the  very  last  person 
in  the  world  to  withstand  such  temptation. 
Tender  looks,  passionate  sighs,  and  delicious 
smiles,  can  scarcely  be  aimed  at  him,  with- 
out exciting  a  world  of  fond  tumultuous 
hopes,  and  entrancing  dreams,  that  mike 
him  at  once  a  worshipper  and  a  slave,  im- 
pelling the  current  of  his  thoughts  in  one  di- 
rection, with  a  maddening  eagerness  that 
leapeth  all  boundaries,  overcometh  all  ob- 
structions, dangers,  and  difficulties,  and 
heedeth  nothing  of  any  sort  but  the  one 
object  to  which  it  is  directed  ;  and  that  give 
to  all  the  visible  world  around  a  voluptuous 
coloring  of  the  like  glowing  nature  as  that 
with  which  the  said  looks,  sighs,  and  smiles 
have  tinged  his  every  sense. 

Although  it  may  be  too  much  to  expect 
one  thus  circumstanced — to  say  nought  of 
the  cruel  disappointment  by  which  his  do- 
mestic peace  had  been  made  shipwreck, 
which  could  but  exert  a  powerful  influence 
towards  the  same  conclusion — to  liold  liim- 
self  aloof  from  the  enticements  of  passion 
when  coming  in  so  flattering  a  guise,  yet 
was  he  exactly  of  that  well-disposedness 
which,  when  he  recovered  the  proper  exer- 
cise of  his  sense  of  justice,  would  see  the 
monstrous  mischiefs  that   could  not  help 


96 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


coming  of  his  allowing  of  siicli  teiiiptiition, 
and  would  lament,  witii  an  intolerable  sense 
of  misery,  his  own  unwortiiiness.  For  what 
infinite  evils  might  not  result  from  giving 
way  to  such  enticements  ! 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  instances 
in  which  deception,  even  in  the  highest 
places,  sit  so  easily  upon  those  by  whom  it 
is  worn,  that  it  would  seem  altogether  su- 
perfluous for  a  man  to  trouble  himself  with 
any  regretful  feelings  for  his  share  in  pro- 
ducing it,  but  Master  Shakspeare  would  on 
no  account  have  believed  in  such  a  deplora- 
ble state  of  things,  and  the  woman  that  en- 
joyed his  ali'ection  was  too  secure  of  his 
respect  to  have  so  much  as  a  doubt  enter- 
tained of  her  detestation  of  all  falsehood  and 
mystery. 

It  was  whilst  engaged  in  deeply  thinking 
on  this  subject,  that  there  suddenly  came  a 
gentle  tapp'mg  at  the  door.  In  the  mood  in 
which  the  tenant  of  this  goodly  chamber 
then  was,  it  can  be  by  no  means  strange 
that  he  heeded  it  not,  though  it  was  repeated 
more  than  once.  At  last  the  door  opened 
cautiously,  and  there  peeped  in  no  other 
than  our  old  acquaintance,  Simon  Stockfish, 
who,  through  the  good  offices  of  his  old 
master's  son,  had  been  engaged  as  serving- 
man  to  Master  Shakspeare.  There  was  on 
his  stolid  visage  an  air  of  mystery,  mingled 
with  that  look  of  caution  and  prudence  he 
was  wont  to  assume  whenever  he  was  under 
any  difficulty. 

Noticing  his  master's  position,  he  walked 
straightway  up  to  him  on  tip-toe,  and  whis- 
pered his  name  very  gently. 

"  Well.  Simon,"  said  he,  instantly  rous- 
ing himself.  "  Anything  from  the  Globe  ? 
Any  one  wanting  me  about  the  new  play  ?  ' 

"  No,  honorable  sir,"  answered  he,  still  in 
a  whisper,  and  pointing  to  the  door.  "  There 
is  a  lady,  an  it  please  you,  seeketh  to  have 
instant  speech  with  you." 

"  A  lady,  Simt)n  '?"  answered  his  master, 
in  some  surprise.  "  Pry  thee,  what  sort  of 
a  lady  ?" 

"  A  gentlewoman,  honorable  sir,"  was 
the  exceeding  lucid  answer,  with  an  aspect 
of  increased  mystery  and  a  show  of  more 
confidence  in  his  voice.  "  That  is  to  say, 
her  apparel  is  of  a  creditable  sort ;  never- 
theless, it  is  not  to  be  gainsayed,  dress  alone 
doth  not  make  the  gentlewoman.  She  is 
tall,  and  of  a  stately  carriage,  and  speaks 
like  one  used  to  command  ;  yet,  as  is  like 
enough,  she  may  be  a  monstrous  indiiferent 
sort  of  woman  enough  as  any  within  a  mile." 

"  What  sort  of  face  had  she,  Simon  ?" 

"  I  have  especial  reasons  for  not  knowing, 
honorable  sir  ;  seeing  that  she  allowed  none 


of  it  to  he  noticed  by  me.  Her  mouth  and 
chin  were  closed  wrapped  in  a  mufilor,  and 
the  rest  of  her  visage  was  hid  bc^hind  a  mask. 
Now,  for  mine  own  part,  I  do  think  that 
one  who  taketh  such  trouble  to  hide  her  face 
must  needs  be  ashamed  of  it,  and  in  this  case 
she  can  be  no  fit  company  for  your  honor  ; 
therefore,  an  it  j)lease  you,  honorable  sir,  I 
think  it  would  be  j)rudent  not  to  allow  such 
a  person  to  have  speech  cf  you,  and  if  it  be 
your  good  pleasure  1  will  on  the  instant  send 
her  packing." 

"  Said  she  not  who  she  was,  or  what  bu- 
siness she  had  with  me  ?" 

"  Her  name  she  refused,  doubtless  for 
some  excellent  good  reasons  ;  but,  as  to  the 
matter  she  came  upon,  she  said  you  would 
have  full  knowledge  of  it  on  your  having 
sight  of  this  ring." 

As  soon  as  Simon  Stockfish  displayed  the 
trinket  that  had  been  entrusted  to  his  cus- 
tody, his  master  looked  like  one  seeing  a 
ghost. 

•'  Gracious  Heaven,  can  this  be  possible !"' 
he  exclaimed,  starting  up  in  a  marvellous 
excited  manner,  as  he  took  the  ring  into  his 
hand.  "  Run,  Simon,  run  !"  he  added,  hur- 
riedly, and  to  the  intense  astonishment  of 
his  new  serving-man.  "  Bring  her  to  this 
chamber  with  all  possible  speed,  and  on  your 
life  see  that  I  am  disturbed  by  no  one — even 
were  it  the  king  himseli'!" 

'■  What  marvel  hath  we  here  ?"  cried  he, 
pressing  his  hands  against  his  brows  in  a 
distracted  manner,  as  Simon  left  the  cham- 
ber, somewhat  bewildered  in  his  thoughts 
of  the  person  to  whom  he  was  sent.  "  How 
wondrous  !  how  incomparably  strange  ! 
Surely  there  must  be  some  huge  mistake  in 
this.  But,  no,  this  is  the  ring,  out  of  all 
manner  of  doubt :  it  must  be  her — it  can  be 
no  other." 

He  had  scarce  well  uttered  the  wordsj 
when  the  door  opened,  and  there  entered  the 
chamber  just  sucli  a  female  as  Simon  Stock- 
fish had  described.  She  was  enveloped, 
and  hid,  as  it  were,  in  a  large,  coarse  cloak. 
This  f>nd  her  face  being  completely  covered 
up,  took  from  the  spectator  all  ordinary 
means  of  guessing  her  character  and  con- 
dition. The  first  care  of  Master  Shakspeare 
was  to  fasten  the  door,  as  hurriedly  and  as 
speedily  as  possible,  which  he  did  with  an 
air  of  vvildness,  altogether  unusual  to  him, 
that  bespoke  some  strange  and  powerful  ex- 
citement. Whilst  this  was  a  doing,  the 
lady  tottered  to  a  scat,  like  one  scarce  able 
to  support  her  limbs,  into  which  she  dropped 
as  though  without  sense  or  motion.  It 
looked  as  though  she  had  swooned,  but  this 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


97 


was  not  so,  for  presently  slio  drew  a  hand 
beautifully  fair  and  dazzling  with  gems 
from  beneath  her  cloak,  and  spread  it  open, 
and  tore  from  her  face  the  masli  and  mulHer, 
and  gasped  as  though  for  air. 

The  face  that  was  discovered  was  of  ex- 
traordinary loveliness  ;  the  features  were  of 
mature  womanhood,  yet  their  settled  un- 
happiness  made  her  seem  much  older  than 
she  was.  A  proud  and  lolty  brow,  eyes 
that  seemed  to  gleam  with  a  supernatural 
light,  an  arched  nose,  with  a  mouth,  whereof 
every  line  spoke  unutterable  disdain  of  all 
mean  things,  did  sufficiently  tell  of  high 
lineage,  without  the  costly-embroidered  robe, 
fitting  tight  to  the  neck  and  bust,  that  was 
seen  through  the  open  cloak,  which  one  of 
poorer  quaUty  could  never  have  worn. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  hastening  to- 
wards her,  when  a  sudden  and  imperative 
motion  of  her  hand  compelled  him  to  stop 
within  a  couple  of  yards  of  her  chair,  and 
for  some  minutes  lie  there  stood,  to  ail  ap- 
pearance, humble  as  the  veriest  slave,  with 
looks  cast  to  the  earth,  a  pallid  cheek,  and 
a  most  sorrowful  visage — she  gazing  on  him 
as  though  her  eyes  were  starting  from  her 
head,  now  pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart, 
as  if  to  stop  its  tumultuous  throbbings,  and 
anon  raising  it  to  her  brow,  as  if  to  repress 
some  terrible  spasm  there.  Neither  spoke 
a  word,  and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  a 
sort  of  gasping,  with  which  the  lady  took 
her  breath.  Once  or  twice  it  looked  as 
though  she  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  sounds 
died  unuttered  on  her  tongue.  Yet  lan- 
guage wanted  she  none.  The  look  she 
cast  uj)on  her  companion  spoke  volumes  of 
meaning,  such  as  the  most  picked  phrases 
could  never  express. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  the  first  who 
spoke.  But  his  words  were  breathed  ^ln\vly, 
falteringly,  and  in  a  whisper,  as  though  the 
confused  state  of  his  feelings  Vv^ould  scarce 
allow  him  utterance. 

"  My  Lady  Countess,  I -" 

"  Hush  !"  hastily  exclaimed  the  lady, 
with  a  sort  of  wild  desperateness,  as  it  were. 
"  I  have  taken  such  pains  as  I  have  to  seek 
you,  unk[iown  to  any,  to  obtain  at  your 
hands  a  service,  to  the  granting  of  which  I 
have  looked  forward  with  feverish  anxious- 1 
ness,  through  many  sleepless  nights,  and 
miserable  days." 

"  Be  assured,  good  my  lady,  it  is  already 
granted,"  said  her  companion.  "  Your  slight- 
est wish  must  ever  be  a  law  with  me,  wiiilst 
I  have  aught  I'emaining  of  sense  or  life." 

"  Swear  it !"  exclaimed  she,  suddenly 
starting  from  her  seat,  and  grasping  Master 
Shakspeare  by  the  arm  ;  then,  dropping  on 


h#  knees  by  his  side,  enforced  him  to  the 
same  posture.  "  Swear  it !"  she  cried,  with 
a  look  and  manner  of  intense  excitement — • 
"  Swear  you  will  do  my  bidding,  as  God  is 
your  witness  and  your  refuge  !" 

"  I  swear  it !"  answered  Master  Shak- 
speare, solemnly.  At  this  his  companion 
dropped  her  hold  on  him,  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  sobbed  convulsively  for  se- 
veral seconds.  In  leaving  the  chair  she 
had  freed  herself  from  the  cloak  v.'hich  had 
concealed  her  dress,  which  was  now  dis- 
played in  all  its  richness — and  a  moi^  costly 
robe  it  was,  as  ever  the  cunning  of  wo- 
man's tailor  triumphed  in.  It  was  of  wrought 
cloth  of  gold,  daintily  set  with  pearls;  the 
stately  wearer  whereof,  though  boasting  of 
sucii  bravery,  in  the  humble  posture  which 
she  had  chosen,  and  in  the  deep  distrees  of 
heart  .--he  exhibited,  looked  a  marvellous 
contradiction.  The  humility  of  Jier  spirit 
would  have  better  sorted  with  cloth  of  frieze, 
or  other  modest  apparelling,  but  her  noble 
figure  and  niHJestic  beauty  undoubtedly  did 
well  become  t^ie  cloth  of  gold. 

Master  Shakspeare  sought  not  to  disturb 
her  grief,  or  to  check  it  by  any  attempt  at 
consolation.  He  retained  his  position  in 
silence,  but  witli  a  heart  deeply  wrung  by 
the  sorrowful  spectacle  beside  him.  Her 
sobs  growing  to  be  less  vehement,  she  made 
a  movement  as  though  she  would  rise,  the 
which  he  readily  assisted  ;  and,  without  a 
word  on  either  side,  he  respectfully  led  her 
to  her  seat,  then  fell  back  to  the  place  he 
had  occupied  before  she  had  left  it,  and  kept 
gazing  on  iier  with  looks  which  did  plainly 
bespeak  his  entire  sympathy.  She  con- 
tinued to  sob  for  some  time,  leaning  low 
against  her  chair,  her  breast  heaving  con- 
vulsively, and  in  other  signs  betraying  the 
exceeding  powerful  agitation  by  which  she 
was  moved. 

After  a  fe\v  minutes  she  raised  herself, 
and  gazed  steadily  at  her  companion.  Her 
eyes  were  humid,  and  her  face  deadly  pale. 
She  paused  awhile,  and  it  was  evident  she 
labored  under  some  e.xtraordinary  feeling 
that  checked  her  speech.  At  last,  in  a 
murmur  that  could  scarce  be  heard,  she 
said — "  I  have  a  son."  Master  Shakspeare 
listened  with  intense  interest.  She  com- 
tinued,  but  still  with  extreme  difficulty  of 
speech,  and  in  a  marvellous  low  voice — 
"  This  boy  love  I  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul.  A  mother's  lov'e,  huge  as  it  is  at  most 
times,  giveth  no  sufficient  conception  of  the 
particular  affection  I  bear  to  him,  for  rea- 
sons which  cannot  readily  be  expressed.  Up 
to  this  time  his  schooling  hath  been  well 
cared  for.     He  will  not  be  found  deficient  in 


98 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


encli  scholarship  as  is  considerod  neccssarji 
for  one  ot"  liis  condition.  But  he  is  now 
grown  to  be  a  youth,  requiring  for  his  gui- 
dance, in  after-years,  a  knowledge  of  men 
rather  tiian  of  books." 

Tlie  -speaker  paused,  perchance  to  collect 
her  ideas.  Her  countenance  was  still  more 
hke  unto  a  marble  effigy,  than  a  human 
being;  and  ber  eloquent  gaze  was  ti.xed 
upon  the  llushed  check  and  kindling  eye  of 
her  companion,  who  listened  to  her  speech, 
as  though  he  put  his  whole  soul  into  his 
looks. 

"It  iiatli  become  a  common,  and,  methinks, 
a  commendable  custom,"  added  she,  "  for 
youth,  of  any  fortune  or  degree,  to  travel  to 
distant  countries,  under  the  eye  of  some 
wise  and  worthy  person,  to  see  and  profit 
by  whatever  is  most  noticeable  in  other 
countries  ere  they  commence  their  career 
of  action  in  their  own.  I  have  so  much 
liking  of  this  custom,  I  would  fain  have 
mine  own  sweet  son  to  get  whatsoever  ad- 
vantages it  may  bring  to  him  ;  but  there  is 
but  one  person  in  this  wide  world  under 
whosj  guardianship  I  would  he  should  obtain 
it." 

Here  came  another  pause,  somewhat 
longer  than  the  other,  in  which  it  was  ex- 
ceeding difficult  to  say  which  seemed  to  be 
most  moved.  The  lady  v/as  still  the  fir.~t  to 
display  her  powers  of  speech.  Her  words 
were  uttered  slowly,  thickly,  and  scarcely 
above  her  breath  ;  and,  nioreovcr,  there 
was  in  them  a  solemnncss  which  carried 
them  at  once  to  the  heart  of  her  singularly 
attentive  companion.  She  then  added — 
"  You  have  sworn  to  do  me  this  excellent 
service."^ 

blaster  Shakspeare  felt  his  every  sense 
in  such  a  whirl  of  bewildering  sensations, 
he  could  not  find  one  single  word  of  speech 
to  state  his  readiness  to  fulfil  the  oath  he  had 
taken.  He  fe!t  not  only  as  if  utterance  was 
denied  him,  but  as  if  he  could  scarce  breathe. 

"  Dost  shrink  from  it  ?"  asked  she,  in  the 
same  trembling  tones. 

"  I  have  sworn,"  said  Master  Shakspeare, 
at  last,  in  a  manner  which  showed  he  had 
no  small  difficulty  in  having  such  v>ords  at 
his  connnand,  "1  have  sworn,  and  will  re- 
gard mine  oath  most  reverently."  He 
longed  to  ask  certain  questions — in  especial 
he  was  desirous  of  learning  when  he  might 
be  required  for  this  service,  but  his  tongue 
did  so  cleave  to  his  throat,  not  a  word  more 
could  he  utter. 

"  'Tis  well,"  replied  she,  taking  a  long 
breath,  "  'tis  exceeding  well :  and  I  thank 
you  right  heartily  for  your  readiness  in  so 


disposing  of  yourself.  But  there  is  one 
thing  more — a  thing  of  most  vital  moment, 
a  matter  of  such  huge  consequence — " 
Here  the  speaker  ended  abruptly,  and  pressed 
her  hand  against  her  breast,  as  though  its 
pulses  were  of  such  force  she  could  no 
longer  endure  them.  Then  with  a  mighty 
effort  of  self-command,  she  proceeded — 
"  Whatever  your  feelings  or  your  thoughts 
may  be  regarding  him,  none  must  know 
them  ;  and  more  than  all,  at  whatever  cost, 
they  must  be  strictly  concealed  from  /u'???." 
Here,  seeing  her  companion  striving  earnest- 
ly to  interrupt  her,  she  added,  with  a  more 
tender  expression  in  her  face  than  she  had 
hitherto  used — "  I  have  such  opinion  of 
your  nobleness  of  soul  that  I  would  not 
have  uttered  this  caution  ;  but  it  is  not  any 
thing  evil,  I  fear,  in  you  :  it  is  rather  an 
excess  of  goodness.  The  better  qualities 
of  your  heart  may,  unless  they  are  discreetly 
governed,  do  a  world  of  mischief.  I  pray 
you  think  of  this." 

"  Be  assured  it  shall  be  well  thought  of," 
replied  he,  faintly. 

"  Guard  him  as  the  apple  of  your  eye," 
she  continued.  '•  Instruct  him  both  by  pre- 
cept and  example,  till  his  nature  hath  taken 
upon  itself  as  much  as  possible  of  kindred 
with  your  own.  Keep  him  secure  of  dan- 
ger of  every  sort,  and  make  him  worthy  of 
bearing  an  honorable  name,  and  filling  a 
creditable  station,  if  his  country  sliould  have 
need  of  his  services.  I  can  speak  to  you 
no  further  on  this  subject  now,  but  I  will 
not  fail  to  apprize  you  of  the  time  when  you 
will  be  called  upon  to  fulfil  the  service  you 
have  undertaken." 

At  the  ending  of  this  speech,  Master 
Shakspeare  knelt  respectfully  at  her  feet. 
At  first,  she  seemed  inclined  to  withhold 
her  hand,  but,  as  if  struck  by  the  air  of  res- 
pect that  was  in  his  aspect  and  demeanor, 
she  gave  it  him,  and  he  at  once  pressed  it, 
though  with  much  more  of  revercrice  than 
gallantry,  to  his  lips.  He  had  scarce  done 
so,  when  she  started  up  with  every  sign  of 
fear  in  her  lovely  countenance.  Sounds 
were  heard  on  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
chamber  in  which  they  were  ;  they  appear- 
ed to  arise  from  a  struggle  and  an  alterca- 
tion, as  though  some  persons  were  striving 
to  fbrce  their  way  up  stairs.  "  God  of 
heaven,  I  have  been  watched  !"  exclaimed 
the  lady,  in  tones  of  agony  and  affright. 

"  I  tell  thee,  thou  senseless  dolt,  thou  !" 
cried  a  husky  voice  from  outside,  "  thou 
shotten  herring  !  thou  guinea-hen  !  thou 
empty  peascod !  I  must  and  will  have 
speech  with  him." 


THE  SECHET  PASSION. 


99 


"  Nay,  Wiil,  prythee  let  us  depart,"  said 
another.  "  It  is  unmannerly  to  press  upon 
him  thus,  if  he  have  company." 

"  It  is  Kempe  and  Allen,  two  of  my  fa- 
miliars," said  Master  Shakspeare.  "  But 
they  must,  on  no  account,  have  sight  of  you. 
On  with  your  disouise,  I  beseech  you,  and 
whilst  my  knave  liolds  them  in  parley,  I  will 
see  you  safe  to  the  street  by  a  way  that  shall 
avoid  them." 

"As  I  hve,  they  are  forcing  their  way  !" 
replied  the  lady,  in  intense  anxiety  and 
alarm,  as  she  hastened  to  put  on  her  mask 
and  her  apparel.  "  They  are  coming — they 
are  close  upon  the  door  !  Oh,  let  me  away 
tliis  instant !" 

Master  Shakspeare  lost  no  time  in  open- 
ing a  door  that  entered  upon  a  book-closet, 
at  the  end  of  which  was  a  back  stair,  down 
which  both  proceeded  hastily,  till  they  came 
upon  a  long  jjassage.  Here  they  could  hear 
a  noise  of  knocking  at  the  door  above, 
mingled  with  a  violent  altercation  of  voices. 
Master  Shakspeare  hurried  his  companion  to 
a  door  that  led  into  one  of  the  thoroughfares 
in  the  liberty  of  the  Clink,  knowing  full  well 
that  Will  Ivempe,  in  the  state  his  husky 
voice  too  well  denoted,  was  not  like  to 
mince  his  phrases.  A  brief  farewell  was  all 
that  was  passed ;  the  door  was  quietly  closed, 
paid  Master  Shakspeare  rapidly  ascended 
the  stairs,  and,  unmindl'ul  of  the  din  outside 
his  chamber,  flung  himself  into  the  chair 
near  the  table,  hiding  his  face  upon  his 
arm.^.  A  short  time  sufliced  for  the  indul- 
gence of  his  feelings.  He  seemed  to  make 
a  powerful  effort  at  composure,  and  rose 
from  his  seat  to  put  an  end  to  the  wild  up- 
roar at  the  door. 

"  An  ancient  kinswoman,  sayest !"  ex- 
,  claimed  one.  "  Why  thou  Barbary  ape, 
thou  unspeakable  foolish  knave  !  dost  think 
Will  Kempe  is  to  be  caught  by  so  poor  a 
conceit  ?  Is  my  gossip  and  namesake  one 
to  have  an  ancient  kinswoman  with  him  at 
this  hour  ?  He  is  better  employed,  I'll  war- 
rant him." 

It  is  here  necessary  the  reader  should 
know  that  Simon  Stockfish  had  considered 
it  to  be  both  prudent  and  politic  to  conceal 
from  his  master's  visiters  the  exact  sort  of 
person  closeted  with  him,  and  took  upon 
himself  to  say  that  he  was  engaged  with  an 
ancient  kinswoman,  and  could  on  no  ac- 
count be  disturbed.  The  which,  as  was 
usual  in  all  his  politic  strokes,  made  matters 
a  great  deal  the  worse. 

It  so  chanced  that  the  discussion  was  put 
to  a  speedy  ending  by  the  opening  of  the 
door  by  his  master,  who,  after  duly  acknow- 
ledging the  presence  of  his  ill-timed  visiters, 


affirmed  very  confidently  his  ancient  kins- 
woman had  left  him  some  time,  and  he  had 
since  fallen  asleep.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
easy  to  see,  by  certain  signs,  more  signifi- 
cant than  mannerly,  that  Kempe  was  vastly 
incredulous.  What  he  had  to  express  on 
the  matter  he  was  prevented  from  giving 
utterance  to  by  his  companion,  wiio  com- 
menced by  informing  Master  Shakspeare  of 
certain  matters  of  intelligence  respecting 
the  patronage  of  different  companies  of 
players,  by  the  king,  the  queen,  and  Prince 
Henry,  and  ended  by  requesting  his  com- 
pany at  supper  at  his  poor  dwelling.  This 
Master  Shakspeare  was  in  no  mood  for,  but 
he  was  anxious  to  get  both  Allen  and  Kempe 
out  of  the  house  as  speedily  as  possible,  so 
he  at  once  very  heaniiy  signified  his  assent, 
spoke  of  an  errand  he  had  that  required  his 
iunnediate  attention,  and  in  a  i'ew  seconds 
was  proceeding  with  them,  in  an  exact  con- 
trary direction  to  that  just  taken  by  iiis  fair 
visiter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Next  unto  his  view 
She  represents  a  banquet,  ushered  in 
By  such  a  shape  as  she  was  sure  would  win 
His  appetite  to  taste. 

JoHX  Chalkhill. 

And  how,  all  this  while,  fared  our  stu- 
dent of  medicine  ?  He  had  surely  been 
a  sufficient  time  an  associate  of  the  family 
of  the  famous  Master  Doctor  Posset,  to  feel 
himself  at  home,  and,  although,  perchance, 
he  might  miss  the  anxious  care  and  affection 
of  his  admirable  kind  mother,  there  was  great 
likelihood  that  he  was  looked  after  by  one 
who  omitted  no  opportunity  of  showing  that 
she  regarded  him  with  a  care  equally  tender, 
and  a  much  more  endearing  alfection.  In 
short,  the  attentions  of  the  attractive  Milli- 
cent  were  of  so  flattering  a  sort  he  must  be 
uhe  dullest  stock  ever  heard  of  that  could 
resist  them. 

John  Hall,  it  is  true,  entered  the  house  a 
mere  studfmt,  on  whom  the  passion — com- 
monly called  love — had  hitherto  made  no 
sort  of  impression  ;  but  the  conduct  pursued 
towards  him  by  the  fair  damsel  with  whom 
he  had  become  domesticated  was  of  a  nature 
that  so  powerfully  appealed  to  his  feelings, 
he  soon  began  to  throw  off  the  humor  of  the 
book- worm,  and  by  degrees  take  on  himself 
that  of  tlie  passionate  lover.  These  appeals 
were  not  only  made  by  means  of  a  thousand 
nameless  offices  of  kindness,  of  services  that 


100 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Iiad  in  tliom  tlic  appoaraiico  of  devotion, 
whicli  could  not  but  have  iinmenKe  power 
over  a  nature  so  new  to  the  inlluence  of 
woman,  but  the  critical  state  of  her  health, 
caused  by  a  constant  recurrence  of  convul- 
sive lits  of  the  most  abiruiin^^  character,  and 
the  too  evident  existence  of  some  secret 
cause  of  unha)>pino.ss,  increased  j^reatly  the 
interest  with  wiiich  the  young  student  felt 
disposed  to  regnrd  her. 

She  said  nothing  positive  as  to  the  nature 
of  her  unhajipiness;  all  thai  he  could  gain 
on  the  subject  was  through  the  expression 
of  mysterious  hints,  by  which  he  was  made 
to  understand  that  she  led  an  exceedingly 
unhappy  hfe  with  her  family. 

win  1st  the  germ  of  affection  was  develop- 
ing itself  in  the  breast  of  the  young  student, 
lie  heard  nothing  and  beheld  nothing  that 
could  lead  him  to  imagine  that  there  was 
any  engagement  betwixt  his  friend  Leonard 
and  his  fair  mistress ;  but,  when  it  had  a 
sure  hold  of  him,  Millicent  took  occasion  to 
acquaint  him  of  its  existence.  IJut  she  did 
so  ni  a  way  that  looked  so  like  lamenting 
such  should  be  the  case,  and  did  so  prettily 
and  so  fondly  withal  promise  him  at  least 
half  the  heart,  thus  unhappily  pre-engaged, 
that  h*e  was  so  bewildered  with  her  flatteries, 
he  could  not  bring  on  himself  to  give  up  his 
suit.  The  more  he  saw  of  the  behavior  of 
the  two  to  each  other,  and  of  the  conduct  of 
each  towards  persons  tiiat  seemed  to  be 
indnitely  better  thought  of.  the  more  he  felt 
satisfied  that  the  engagement  was  mutually 
dissatisfactory ;  and  as  afterwards  she  fre- 
quently displayed  the  state  of  lier  feelings 
to  him,  in  a  manner  that  could  not  be  mis- 
taken, he  allowed  himself  to  act  and  feel  as 
if  no  such  engagement  existed. 

John  Hall  was  of  a  nature  as  unsuspicious 
as  any  child,  and  equally  credulous.  His 
experience  of  wcuiankind  had  been  limited 
almost  exclusively  to  his  mother,  who  was 
one  of  its  rarest  examples — gentle,  fond, 
generous,  pure-hearted,  and  single-minded  ; 
and  he  was  willing  enough  to  believe  that  in 
the  devoted  Millicent  he  beheld  all  that  was 
most  admirable  and  worthy  of  honor.  The 
education  he  had  had,  and  the  habits  of 
thinking  in  which  he  had  been  wont  to  in- 
dulge, made  much  in  lier  speech  and  conduct 
to  him  seem  strarigc  and  unaccountable,  but 
her  manner  was  so  pleasing,  and  her  argu- 
ments so  specious,  that  it  was  impossible  he 
could  imagine  there  was  any  thing  improper 
in  her  ])roceedings.  Indeed,  he  most  lirmly 
believed  her  to  be  the  most  disinterested, 
noble-hearted  being  upon  earth ;  and,  though 
he  marvelled  at  the  earnestness  with  which 
she  pressed  him  to  be  on  liis  guard,  that 


liConard  her  betrothed  sliould  remain  in  ig- 
norance of  the  good  understanding  which 
existed  betwixt  them,  he  liad  not  a  doubt  in 
the  world  she  had  some  excellent  good  mo- 
tive for  it. 

We  must  beg  leave  to  transport  the 
courteous  reader  into  no  other  place  tlian 
Mistress  Millicent's  bed-chamber,  at  a  lime 
too,  when,  with  her  young  companion,  she 
was  preparing  to  retire  to  rest.  The  cham- 
ber, though  small,  was  peculiarly  orderly 
and  clean.  It  was  situated  in  the  roof  of 
the  house,  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
any  of  the  others.  But,  though  thus  isolated, 
it  liad  every  appearance  of  security,  and 
many  of  comfort.  The  bed  lay  low  almost 
to  the  floor,  yet  it  seemed  to  promise  more 
than  ordinary  accommodation,  and  from  the 
number  of  packages,  and  huge  chests  and 
cupboards  about  it  on  every  side,  it  showed 
that  there  was  good  store  of  other  furniture 
equally  useful. 

Mildred,  chatting  as  fast  as  her  tongue 
would  let  her,  with  a  constant  recourse  to 
her  childish  and  unmeaning  laugh,  was 
getting  ready  to  take  the  rest  it  was  evident 
she  needed.  Millicent  seemed  to  be  listen- 
ing, as  she  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  comb- 
ing out  her  luxuriant  tresses,  but  there  was 
that  settled  gravity  in  her  aspect  that  showed 
she  was  thinking  of  a  far  different  matter. 
But  the  other  cared  little  whether  her  espe- 
cial friend  was  listening  or  not.  On  she 
proceeded  with  her  narrative,  exceeding 
content  to  have  no  interruption. 

Now  and  then  her  companion  uttered  a 
brief  unmeaning  phrase,  evidently  more  be- 
cause she  was  expected  to  say  something, 
than  from  any  interest  she  took  in  t!ie  sub- 
ject or  subjects  so  fluently  spoken  of.  Thus 
she  slowly  pursued  her  task — indeed  so 
slowly,  that  the  other  had  placed  herself 
under  the  bedclothes  before  she  had  taken 
oil"  her  outer  garment.  Then  she  seemed 
to  be  wondrous  busy  looking  over  a  heap  of 
linen,  that  stood  in  a  heavy  arm-chair,  as  if 
fresh  from  the  buck-basket.  For  some  short 
time  after  Mildred  had  laid  down,  she  con- 
tinued her  gossip.  At  last,  as  though  tired 
of  its  constant  exercise,  her  tongue  ceased, 
and  her  full  and  regular  breathing  declared 
she  was  sinking  to  sleep.  As  soon  as  she 
heard  these  sounds,  Millicent  left  off  what 
she  was  about  and  gazed  for  some  moments 
at  the  sleeper.  Presently  she  took  the  lamp, 
and  walked  gently  to  the  bedside.  The  ex- 
amination she  gave  secured  to  satisfy  her, 
for  then  she  quickly  but  softly  glided  out  of 
the  chamber. 

She  [)assed  down  the  staircase  without 
producing  the  slightest  sound,  and  entered 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


101 


a  chamber,  directly  over  the  basement  floor. 
Here  she  liid  the  lamp  in  tlie  fireplace,  and 
went  direct  to  the  window.  This  projected 
considerably  over  the  lower  part  of  the  dwell- 
ing, as  was  the  case  in  most  houses  at  that 
time,  so  tiiat  any  one  could  gain  from  it  a 
clear  view  up  and  down  the  street.  She 
opened  the  casement,  and  looked  to  the 
right  for  a  considerable  space.  She  then 
giz3d  in  the  opposite  direction,  but  as 
it  seemed  with  a  like  result.  If  she  expect- 
ed any  one  at  that  hour,  it  did  not  look  as 
though  her  e.xpectation  would  get  fulxilled. 
Tiiere  was  no  one  visible  from  one  end  of 
Golden  Lane  to  the  other,  as  far  as  could  be 
seen  of  it.  Indeed,  all  Barbican  appeared 
undisiurbed,  even  by  so  much  as  a  solitary 
constable  of  the  watch. 

It  was  a  clear  starlight  night,  that  made 
the  picturesque  features  of  tae  quaint  old 
houses  in  that  quarter  of  the  city  as  goodly 
a  picture  of  the  son  as  the  eye  might  look 
on.  Millicent  sat  herself  down  by  ttie  open 
casement,  with  her  elbow  restnig  oa  its 
ledge,  and  h':r  cheek  supjrarted  by  her  hand. 
She  sometimes  looked  up  to  the  deep  blue 
sky,  which,  with  its  myriad  lights,  spread 
far  and  wide  over  the  tall  chimnies  and 
sloping  eaves;  but  her  look  wo;idrously 
lacked  that  devotion,  which  the  young  heart 
cannot  fail  to  feel  wlien  impressed  with  tne 
beauty  of  that  marvelloas  work  of  the  Great 
Architect.  She  gazed  upon  the  buildings 
before  her  with  the  same  absolute  inUif- 
ferency.  Neither  the  work  of  God  nor  man 
appeared  to  excite  in  her  the  slightest  spec- 
ulation ;  yet  Vv'as  her  mind  inliaitely  busy. 
All  its  energies  were  bent  to  tiie  considera- 
tion of  the  best  means  of  accomplishing 
certain  purposes  of  her  own,  the  policy  of 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  veriest 
grey-beard  that  ever  sat  at  a  council  board, 
of  directed  the  powers  of  mighty  states. 

A  slight  sound  disturbed  her  reveries,  and 
she  immediately  looked  forth,  but  drew  in 
her  head  again,  or  seeing  it  was  a  neighbor 
liastening  for  a  midwife.  Again  they  were 
interrupted,  but  this  time  it  was  by  the  noisy 
singing  of  a  group  of  merry  apprentices, 
who  had  stolen  out  from  their  master's 
dwellings,  doubtless  for  some  especial  mis- 
chief, which  caused  her  to  draw  back  so  far 
into  the  chamber  she  could  not  be  seen  by 
them.  She  returned  to  her  position,  and 
remained  there  some  time  longer.  The 
silence  was  undisturbed,  the  blue  canopy 
above  seemed  to  have  gained  additional 
brilliancy,  and  the  sharp  outlines  of  the 
houses  around  looked  to  be  placed  in  a  more 
pleasing  perspective,  but  to  Millicent  ad  these 
were  still  as  though  they  had  never  been. 


Now  a  light  quick  footfall  attracted  her 
attention.  Slie  .started  up  on  the  instant,  as 
though  she  recognized  the  sound.  By  the 
indistinct  light  she  observed  a  man  hurriedly 
approaching  towards  the  house.  What  was 
his  age  or  dignity  was  not  sufficiently  evi- 
dent ;  but  from  the  firm  step  he  took,  and 
the  uprightness  of  his  stature,  it  might  rea- 
sonably be  supposed  he  was  not  far  advanced 
in  life.  He  was  close  upon  the  house  and 
just  under  the  casement,  when  Penelope 
cried  out,  "Hist!"  which  caused  him  to 
stop  instantly  and  look  up.  She  put  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  as  she  leaned  forward. 
Satisfied  that  the  sign  was  attended  to,  she 
presently  closed  the  casement,  took  the  lamp 
from  its  hiding-place,  and  noiselessly  crept 
down  stairs. 

In  a  moment  after,  the  street  door  was 
opened  very  gently,  and  the  person  seen  out- 
side admitted.  'I'he  door  was  then  gently 
closed  and  fastened.  Scarce  had  it  been 
done,  when  witiiout  a  word  spoken  on  either 
side,  he  received  such  usage  as  showed  her 
visiter  was  on  the  footing  of  a  lover.  The 
two  were  then  perfectly  in  the  dark.  Then 
lie  followed  her  footsteps  up-stairs,  at  a  turn- 
ing in  vviiich  stood  tlie  ligiit  which  she  had 
left  there  when  she  admitted  him.  This  she 
took  up,  and  proceeded,  folioweJ  by  the 
other  noiselessly,  till  she  entered  a  chamber 
which  adjoined  that  in  which  lay  the  uncon- 
scious Mildred. 

There  was  an  appearance  in  it  of  studied 
comfort.  A  lire  burnt  on  the  hearth,  and 
materials  for  an  excellent  repast  stood  oa  the 
table,  iviiliicent  put  down  the  light,  and 
once  more  embraced  her  gallant — for  her 
gallant  out  of  all  tjuestion  he  was.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  deliglit  she  displayed.  Her 
pale  features  were  lighted  up  with  admira- 
tion. Her  words  were  most  honeyed  fiat- 
teiies,  and  her  actions  the  most  caressing 
fond  woman  ever  disclosed.  She  divested 
her  companion  of  his  hat,  then  of  his  boots, 
putting  on  his  feet  a  pair  of  comfortable 
slippers,  and  made  him  sit  down  to  his  sup- 
per and  waited  on  him  pressingly  and  dili- 
gently, partaking  of  none  herself,  but  sparing 
no  pains  to  make  him  eat  and  drink 
heartily. 

And  who  was  the  gallant  so  well  cared 
for  ?  It  was  no  other  than  John  Hall,  and 
the  place  in  which  he  and  the  seductive 
Millicent  were  was  his  own  chaml)er,  v\  hich, 
by  the  way,  was  in  some  way  evident,  from 
the  books  and  other  signs  of  study  there  to 
be  found,  lie  could  not  but  make  earnest 
acknowledgments  for  the  loving  care  she 
took  of  him.  In  truth,  her  entire  devoted- 
ness  to  hiin,  which  she  made  every  possible 


102 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


effort  to  show  liim  clandestinely,  had  not  i 
been  without  its  due  effect  on  his  grateful 
disposition.  | 

Indeed,  the  manner  of  her  behavior  filled  i 
him  at  last  with  a  sort  of  intoxicatiiifr  deli- 
rium. He  was  never  happy  save  when  he  j 
was  alone  with  her,  and  although  there  was 
nothing  on  his  part  strictly  evil  to  conceal, : 
he  was  ever  in  a  constant  mood  of  appre- 
hension that  his  feelings  should  betray  her. 

He  began  to  feel  exceeding  anxious  and 
uneasy  wlicn  alone  with  the  always  friendly 
LeonaVd,  altliough  it  would  have  been  a 
difficuli  matter  to  have  shown  any  just  cause 
for  it.  In  short,  his  senses  were  mystified 
and  confounded,  and  he  scarce  could  arrive 
at  one  definite  conclusion,  save  that  he  loved 
Millicent,  and,  although  this  was  a  mon- 
strous injustice  to  his  friend,  he  would  be 
doing  a  still  greater  wrong  to  the  fond  crea- 
ture who  strove  so  earnestly  to  pleasure  him, 
were  he  to  love  her  one  jot  the  less. 

By  this  time  the  supper  things  had  been 
cleared  away  save  only  the  flask  of  wine  and 
a  tall  glass,  and  Millicent  had  seated  herself 
on  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
chimney. 

Ai  tiie  constant  request  of  his  fair  mistress, 
the  young  student,  from  time  to  time,  finished 
his  glass  ;  and  the  wine  began  to  have  its 
effects  upon  him.  His  eyes  flashed  with 
an  unwonted  brilliance  ;  his  pale  cheek  had 
on  it  a  glow  that  in  warmth  rivalled  that  of 
health,  and  his  tongue  contrived  to  exercise 
its  qualities  after  a  fashion  quite  foreign  to 
his  ordinary  habits.  His  spirits  seemed 
every  moment  to  rise  higher  and  higher. 
He  uttered  jests,  and  delivered  comphments, 
the  one  with  humor,  the  other  with  both 
spirit  and  grace  ;  and  she  seemed  to  have 
equal  satisfaction  in  both,  retiirning  too,  the 
coin  he  gave  with  prodigal  interest.  Then 
she,  when  this  humor  of  his  was  at  its  height, 
begged  of  him,  in  too  pretty  a  way  to  be 
denied,  that  he  would  sing  to  her  the  same 
exquisite  sweet  ballad  she  iiad  heard  him 
sing  to  Leonard  the  day  previous. 

At  another  time  it  is  like  enough  our 
young  student  would  have  done  all  in  his 
power  to  get  oft"  attempting  a  love-ditty  to 
the  too  charming  Mdlicent,  but  he  had  drunk 
so  much  wine,  and  imbibed  so  much  flattery 
— the  more  intoxicating  of  the  two — that  he 
was  ready  to  do  lier  l)idding  on  the  instant. 
]  le  murely  uttered  a  few  brief  apologies  for 
iiis  want  of  skill,  and  then  commenced : 

THE  HEART'S  REGAL. 

Come  back,  fond  lieart !  wliy  wouldst  thou  stay  ? 

Content  tliee  with  tliy  present  dwelling; 
Enjoy  thine  ease,  whilst  here  thou  may — 


What  ills  thou  seek'st,  there  is  no  telling. 
Fond  heart  replied,  "  Too  long  I've  pined, 

Unloved,  unloving,  dull,  and  dreaiy  ; 
In  yon  fair  breast  a  home  I'll  find, 

For  of  iny  own  lam  full  weary." 

Ah,  me, 'twas  but  a  little  space — 

The  least  of  Time's  fast  bursting  bubbles — 
The  truant  found  his  dwelling-place 

Beset  by  countless  pains  and  troubles. 
"  Oh,  would  I  could  but  know  again," 

Quoth  he,  "  that  peace  I  have  so  needed, 
None  then  should  say, '  Come  back,'  in  vain, 

None  then  should  warn,  and  be  unheeded  !" 

When  he  came  to  the  end  of  his  ditty,  he 
fully  expected  to  hear  the  usual  gracious 
commentary,  but,  to  his  extreme  surprise, 
there  ensued  a  dead  silence  ;  and  turning 
round  to  see  why  it  was,  to  his  astonishment 
and  alarm  he  perceived  that  his  companion 
was  in  one  of  those  strange  convulsive  fits 
that  were  wont  to  visit  her  so  roughly. 

She  sat  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  her 
face  bloodless,  her  eyes  fixed,  and  her  lower 
jaw  constantly  snapping  against  the  other. 
Her  arms  were  in  her  laj),  but  they  were 
slightly  raised  once  or  twice,  and  dropped 
down  again.  John  Hall  was  hugely  con- 
cerned at  this.  He  hurried  to  her,  and,  sup- 
porting her  in  his  arms,  strove  to  open  her 
hands,  which  were  close  shut  and  com- 
pressed. 

Whilst  he  was  intent  in  this,  she  heaved 
a  deep  breath.  Anon,  she  began  to  laugh, 
first  slightly,  and  then  in  long  peals  of  fright- 
ful vehemence.  Then  she  took  to  talking, 
and,  to  iier  companion's  no  small  gratifica- 
tion, did  say  many  things  that  spoke  the 
extent  of  her  passion  fjr  him. 

Crying  followed  laughing,  and  all  sorts  of 
strange  phrases  were  mixed  up  with  her 
passionate  declarations.  Sometimes  there 
was  a  pause,  and  she  seemed,  but  for  the 
heating  of  her  heart,  like  one  from  whom 
life  hath  departed,  and  then  the  wild  hyste- 
rical laughter  would  burst  out  afresh,  and 
she  would  act  over  again  with  increased 
frenzy  the  loving  confession  she  had  just 
made. 

To  John  Hall's  exceeding  credit,  he  bore 
himself  towards  her  throughout  with  an  in- 
finite greater  show  of  the  physician  than  the 
lover  ;  and  when  she  at  last  began  to  exhibit 
signs  of  returning  consciousness,  he  gently 
placed  her  back  in  the  chair,  and  merely  stood 
by  her,  holding  one  of  her  hands,  so  that,  on 
her  recovery,  her  sense  of  womanly  delicacy 
miglit  not  be  shocked  by  any  thing  which 
might  lead  her  into  the  belief  that  she  had 
maTle  the  disclosure  of  her  feelings  she  had. 
She  presently  drew  her  hands  over  her 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


103 


face,  and  stared  about  her  like  one  waking 
from  a  strange  dream.  Then  slie  cast  her 
eyes  upon  her  companion  with  a  singular 
curiousness,  and  slowly  began  to  have  some 
conception  of  surrounding  objects.  She 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  looked  unutterably 
wretched.  Tiie  young  student,  with  an 
evident  sympathy,  expressed  his  hopes  she 
felt  better.  She  smileu  faintly,  and,  in  few 
words,  acknowledged  she  was  so.  Then 
she  rose  from  her  chair  as  though  with  some 
difficulty,  and  for  a  while  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder.  John  Hall  was  too  much 
accustomed  to  receive  such  familiarities 
from  her  to  be  surprised  at  such  an  act. 
Yet  he  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  dart  through 
his  frame  as  her  cheek  came  close  to  his, 
and  he  could  not  refrain,  by  means  of  the 
arm  that  encircled  her  waist,  from  drawing 
her  into  closer  neighborhood — a  great  bold- 
ness in  him.  This  was  immediately  respond- 
ed to  on  her  part  by  her  raising  her  lustrous 
eyes  to  his,  and  iixing  on  him  a  gaze,  that 
he  could  not  have  looked  on  for  an  instant. 
His  eyes  fell  before  it,  and  he  felt  dizzy  and 
faint,  like  one  about  to  sink  into  a  swoon. 

A  silence  followed,  uninterrupted  on  either 
side.  Finally,  MilUcent,  making  some  ordi- 
nary remark  on  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  lit 
a  small  lamp  that  was  in  the  room,  and,  with 
one  of  her  most  bewitching  '•  good  nights," 
faintly  answered  by  him,  took  her  own  light, 
and  quietly  glided  out  of  the  room.  She 
had  scarcely  closed  the  door  when  her  whole 
countenance  underwent  a  sudden  and  most 
complete  change.  Her  brow  was  fiercely 
knit,  and  her  visage  expressed  utter  dissatis- 
faction. Little  did  the  unsuspecting  student 
imagine  that  the  whole  scene,  like  many 
others  that  had  preceded  it,  had  been  acted 
by  her ;  and  that  each  and  all  those  tits, 
which  had  so  distressed  him  to  look  on,  were 
simulated  for  the  purpose  of  exciting  his 
sympathy. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

They  that  enter  into  the  state  of  marriage 
cast  a  die  of  the  greatest  contingency,  and  yet 
of  the  greatest  interest  in  the  world,  next  to 
the  last  throw  for  eternity — life  or  death,  fe- 
licity or  a  lasting  sorrow,  are  in  the  power  of 
marriage.  Jeremy  Taylor. 

After  due  consideration  of  the  duty  he 
had  so  strongly  bound  himself  to  fulfil. 
Master  Shakspeare  made  arrangements  for 
paying  a  visit  to  his  family  at  Shottcry.  He, 
as  was  usual  with  him  on  all  such  occas- 
ions, took  leave  of  his  friends  and  fellows 


at  the  playhouse,  by  means  of  a  jovial  sup- 
per at  his  lodgings  in  the  liberty  of  the 
Clink ;  and  early  ne.xt  morning  started  off, 
accompanied  by  Simon  Stockfish,  both  well 
armed,  and  otherwise  well  provided  for  a 
long  journey,  on  the  road  to  Oxford. 

Simon  was  very  diflerently  circumstanced 
in  this  journey,  to  what  he  was  then  travel- 
ling with  his  old  master's  son  ;  in  the  first 
place,  there  was  a  very  opposite  style  of 
horseflesh  employed  on  llie  present  occa- 
sion;  in  the  ne.xt,  he  had  no  such  important 
responsibility  as  weighed  so  heavily  on  him 
when  acting  as  guardian  to  the  young  stu- 
dent. Master  Shakspeare  rode  a  fine  tall 
horse,  w-orthy  to  carry  an  emperor,  and 
Simon  had  for  his  own  riding  a  truly  ser- 
viceable gelding,  that  was  possessed  of  very 
good  paces  ;  and,  so  far  from  wanting  a 
guide.  Master  Shakspeare  knew  the  road 
so  well,  he  could  have  gone  the  whole  dis- 
tance blindfold. 

Simon,  however,  had,  as  in  his  memorable 
journey  to  London,  ample  opportunity  for 
cultivating  his  genius  for  taciturnity. — • 
Though  he  had  usually  found  his  master 
agreeably  communicative,  and  ever  with 
something  pleasant  in  his  speech,  all  the 
way  nearly  to  Oxford,  he  was  so  deeply  in- 
tent on  his  own  thoughts,  as  to  seem  to  take 
no  heed  of  any  other  matter  whatsoever. 
Doubtless  he  was  considering  the  important 
matters  that  had  transpired  during  the  ex- 
traordinary visit  he  had  received.  He 
seemed  to  be  going  over  in  his  mind  the 
whole  remarkable  history  of  his  Secret 
Passion. 

As  he  approached  the  University,  he 
strove  to  shake  off  the  load  of  thought 
which  pressed  upon  him,  and  suddenly  dis- 
turbed his  sedate  old  follower,  in  the  midst 
of  certain  deep  considerations  as  to  the  pro- 
perest  policy  for  him  to  pursue  for  the  ad- 
vancing or  securing  of  his  master's  inter- 
ests under  divers  possible  contingencies, 
by  affording  him  various  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  the  fair  city  he  was  about  to  en- 
ter. As  if  for  to  make  up  for  his  want  of 
sociality  previously,  he  now  began  to  enter- 
tain his  humble  fellow-traveller  with  num- 
berless stories  of  the  freaks  and  humors  of 
the  college  youths.  They  seemed  to  amuse 
Simon  wonderfully  ;  and  when  they  rode 
up  to  "  Tlie  Crown,"  it  was  difficult  to  say 
w^hich  was  in  the  choicest  spirits,  the  mas- 
ter or  the  man. 

Simon,  however,  speedily  recovered  his 
customary  staidness,  and  in  looking  after 
the  stable-boys,  and  giving  directions  for 
the  proper  dieting  and  attentions  to  his  mas- 
ter's beasts,  demeaned  himself  as  became 


104 


THE  SECRET  PASSION- 


his  reputation  for  gravity  or  caution.  lie 
did  more — fully  impressed  with  ihe  superior 
advantages  of  gaining  the  ear  of  the  high- 
er powers,  and  feeling,  bomul  in  conscience 
to  do  his  utmost  for  the  bcnelitting  of  his 
good  master,  lie  took  the  liit=t  o[)portunity 
he  could  of  speaking  in  private  with  the 
hostess  of  "The  Crown,"  in  honor  of  the 
exceeding  worthy  person  whose  serving- 
man  he  had  the  good  lortnne  to  be,  and  with 
much  earnestness  begged  she  would  see 
that  he  had  e\ery  thing  of  the  best  at  a  fair 
and  rensonablc  charge. 

Simon  Stoc'kOsli  little  know  the  amuse- 
ment the  relation  of  this  studied  speech  of 
Jiis,  by  Mistress  D'Avement  to  Master 
Shakspearc,  caused  in  the  little  parlor  the 
latter  was  wont  to  use  when  staying  at  Ox- 
ford. But  we  cannot  now  tarry  to  narrate 
what  was  said  on  that  occasion,  nor  any 
other  thing  that  pa.ssed,  when  it  came  to  be 
bruited  among  the  O.xford  scholars  that 
Will  Shakspeare  was  at  "  The  C^rown." 
We  must  needs  hurry  him  out  of  that  fair 
and  ancient  city,  which  he  left  early  the 
next  morning,  to  carry  him  as  fast  as  we 
can  towards  Stratford. 

As  he  travelled  along,  his  thoughts  set 
in  a  totally  different  direction  to  that  they 
had  taken  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  journey. 
The  heart  of  Master  Shakspeare  was  one 
admirably  attuned  to  all  the  sweet  affections 
of  domestic  life.  God  only  knoweth  with 
what  overmastering  love  he  had  regarded 
liis  sweet  young  son.  He  could  not  but 
shudder  when  he  considered  the  terrible 
punishment  he  had  endured  in  his  lament- 
able death,  in  which  all  his  auibitioas  hopes 
for  him  had  \>3cn  levelled  to  the  dust,  and  his 
whole  nature  crushed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
ruins.  13 ut,  though  his  beloved  Hamnet 
was  no  longer  to  gladden  his  eyes  with  his 
beauty  and  intelligence,  there  was  still  left 
him  the  wild  and  wilful  Judith,  who,  with 
all  her  strange  unleminine  ways,  was 
an  object  of  love  to  him  ;  and,  belter  still, 
there  was  the  tender  and  loving  Susanna, 
of  whose  entire  affections  he  felt  himself 
secure. 

He  had,  as  was  his  custom,  brought  with 
him  presents  for  every  member  of  his  fam- 
ily, selected  to  meet  their  several  wants  or 
tastes.  Even  the  three  aunts,  whose  hos- 
tility to  him  and  talent  for  mischief  he  had 
been  made  to  appreciate  so  often,  had  not 
been  forgotten  ;  and  he  busied  himself  very 
pleasantly  in  anticipating  the  gratilication 
these  gifts  would  create : — how  greatly 
Mistress  Anne  would  be  enamored  of  the 
piece  of  Norwich  stuff  that  was  to  make  her 
a  new  gown  ! — What  exceeding  joy  Judith 


would  display  at  the  sight  of  the  gay  rib- 
bons he  would  set  before  her !  and  how 
tenderly  Susanna  would  express  her  thanks 
for  the  dainty  car-rings  of  Venetian  gold  he 
had  bought  to  adorn  her  delicate  ears ! 
The  new  knitting  instruments,  the  excel- 
lent hose,  and  the  admirable  Cambridga 
gloves,  which  he  had  procured  for  the  three 
elderly  Breedbates,  He  doubted  not  would 
suffice  for  the  creating  of  their  good-will 
and  good-humor — till  the  next  opportunity 
of  backbiting  presented  itself. 

Simon  Stockfish  all  this  while  did  not  al- 
low the  time  to  grow  irksome  ;  so  thought- 
ful a  person,  about  to  make  such  important 
connexions  as  the  family  of  his  respected 
master,  could  not  fail  of  giving  the  circum- 
stance all  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  suf- 
ficient reflection,  He  laid  down  rules  for 
his  guidance,  prepared  answers  ready  for 
certain  questions  he  expected  to  be  put  to 
him,  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  miracle  of 
discretion  touching  his  master's  secrets, 
the  more  especial  as  regarded  the  ques- 
tionable visiter  he  had  strove  to  pass  off  on 
Kempe  and  Allen  as  an  ancient  kinswoman, 
and  cudgelled  his  brains  for  politic  strokes 
wherewith  to  screen  his  honored  master, 
should  any  thing  of  this  suspicious  matter 
have  got  bruited  abroad.  Therefore  it  was 
no  wonder  Simon  wore  a  graver  counte- 
nance even  than  usual.  Truly  had  all  the 
cares  of  empire  devolved  upon  him,  he  could 
not  have  looked  more  thoughtful  than  he  did. 

As  Master  Shakspeare  approached  scenes 
so  familiar  to  him,  and  so  endeared  to  his 
recollection  as  those  that  were  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  his  home,  every  object  that  met 
his  sight  did,  by  some  means  or  ether,  con- 
nect itself  with  his  lost  Hamnet ;  and,  by 
some  singular  association  of  ideas,  this  in- 
tolerable altliction  drew  his  mind  to  the  con- 
sideration of  other  things,  which  did  mar- 
vellously increase  the  sadness  of  his  humor. 
He  was  in  no  mood  for  light  converse.  He 
endured  such  sharp  pangs,  that,  as  he  ad- 
vanced, he  became  more  dejected,  and  less 
inclined  for  playing  of  the  social  part  that 
so  well  became  him. 

He  was  disturbed  in  these  unpleasant  re- 
i  flections,  when  within  a  short  distance  of 
Stratford,  by  observing  two  figures  ap- 
proaching from  the  town,  that,  at  first,  from 
the  strangeness  of  their  motions  and  ap- 
pearance, did  puzzle  him  exceedingly  to 
make  out  to  what  kind  of  animal  they  be- 
longed. On  they  came,  seeming  to  be  fly- 
ing along  the  surface  of  the  ground,  utter- 
ing the  most  singular  cries  ever  heard. 
Whether  they  were  beasts,  birds,  or  those 
marvellous  creatures  that  are  said  to  par- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


105 


take  of  the  different  natures  of  both,  it  was 
not  easy  to  decide.  Master  Shakspeare 
was  at  a  nonplus.  But  Simon  Stockfish, 
who  had  baen  preparing;'  himself  to  meet 
many  strange  things,  as,  in  his  sagacity,  he 
thought  was  very  natural  when  going  to 
a  strange  place,  was  astonished  far  beyond 
any  astonishment  he  had  felt  all  his  life 
lon^-. 

On  came  these  nondescripts  with  a  most 
horrible  din,  sometimes  abreast,  anon  fol- 
lowing each  other ;  having  so  singular  a 
motion  withal,  it  could  not  be  said,  with 
any  certainty,  whether  they  were  flying 
like  birds,  or  leaping  like  grasshoppers. 
Simon,  though  he  was  in  a  terrible  fright  at 
meeting  such  outlandish  things,  considered 
it  was  his  duty  to  defend  his  master  from 
any  mischief  they  were  like  to  do  him  ;  for 
that  they  came  with  some  murderous  intent 
he  had  no  manner  of  doubt.  He  looked  to 
his  pistolets,  and  had  his  hand  upon  one,  in 
readiness  to  meet  the  expected  assault. 

The  wonder  with  which  Master  Shaks- 
peare noticed  them  at  lirst  gave  way  to  a 
smile,  as  soon  as  tliey  came  near  enough 
for  liim  to  view  them  correctly.  He  drew 
up  his  horse,  and,  notwithstanding  his  mind 
was  bo  ill  at  ease,  he  could  scarce  refrain 
irom  mirth.  His  faithful  serving-man, 
judging,  from  his  master's  stopping,  that 
now  was  the  time  for  action,  though  his 
lieart  was  in  his  mouth,  he  was  in  so  huge 
a  fear,  drew  forth  a  -pistolet,  and  rode  to  his 
side,  having  valorously  made  up  his  mind 
not  to  be  eaten  up  alive  till  he  had  done 
something  in  his  respected  master's  defence. 
'•  I  will  shoot  the  first  villain,  an  it  please 
you,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  and  in  a  terrible 
trepidation.  "  Perchance  it  would  be  good 
policy  were  you,  at  the  same  moment,  to 
despatch  the  other."  Simon  got  no  other 
answer  than  having  his  weapon  knocked 
upwards  by  his  master's  hand,  at  which  in- 
stant it  went  off,  expending  its  ammunition 
harmlessly  in  the  air  ;  and  well  it  was  for 
Simon  that  action  was  so  quickly  done,  or 
such  mischief  would  have  followed  as  would 
have  put  him  in  greater  peril  than  that  from 
which  he  sought  to  escape. 

If  this  astonished  him,  how  infinitely 
more  did  he  marvel  when,  at  the  same  in- 
stant, the  horrible  nondescripts  appeared 
standing  before  him,  in  the  outward  resem- 
blance of  men — men,  too,  from  whom  it  was 
evident  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  there  was 
in  them  so  much  to  laugh  at. 

They  were  no  other  than  the  reader's  old 
acquainttmces,  Jonas  Tiettpe  and  Tommy 
Hart.  The  latter  had  heard  that  the  much- 
respected  brother  of  his  merry  little   wife 


was  expected  at  Stratford,  and  he  was  sent 
to  mi-et  him  with  a  communication  of  grave 
import.  He  was  joined  by  his  nimble  friend 
Jonas ;  and,  quite  forgetful  of  the  exceed- 
ing serious  nature  of  what  he  was  instruct- 
ed to  state,  no  sooner  had  he  caught  sio-ht 
of  Master  Shakspeare  than  he  challencred 
his  companion  to  a  race,  in  his  favorite 
method  of  progression,  alternately  using  the 
hands  and  feet.  The  challenge  was  as 
soon  accepted  as  spoken,  and  off  they  started. 
Both  were  adepts  in  this  strange  feat,  for 
which  they  were  famed,  far  and  near ;  and 
it  was  the  manner  in  which  they  advanced, 
now  with  the  head  close  to  the  ground  and 
now  up,  and  at  a  distance  showing  nothing 
but  a  confused  bundle  of  arms  and  legs,  go- 
ing roimd  like  the  spokes  of  a  wneel  in 
rapid  motion,  with  the  savage  cries  they 
thought  tit  to  make,  that  puzzled  Master 
Shakspeare,  and  put  his  valiant  and  faith- 
ful serving-man  into  so  absolute  a  fear. 

Simon,  albeit  he  had  so  carefully  made 
up  his  mind  to  see  strange  things,  marvelled 
so  greatly  at  the  wonderful  transformation 
he  had  just  beheld,  that  it  clean  took  away 
his  speech.  He  gazed  upon  Tommy  Hart 
and  his  odd-looking  associate,  as  though  Jie 
could  not  convince  himself  that  they  were 
human.  It  was  his  master  who  first  brought 
all  parties  to  feel  a  little  at  their  ease.  He 
explained  the  mistake  of  his  attendant  so 
pleasantly  withal,  that  they  who  were  likely 
to  have  suffered  by  it  so  dreadfully  seemed 
to  take  it  as  the  most  exquisite  jest  they  had 
ever  heard. 

After  making  friendly  inquiries  f!:»r  all  of 
his  acquaintance  at  Stratford,  w'hich  brought 
upon  him  a  whole  budget  of  news,  and  as- 
suring both  his  townsmen  he  would  not  be 
long  before  he  paid  them  a  visit,  he  took  his 
leave  of  them.  Tommy  Hart  was  so  taken 
up  with  the  enjoyment  of  his  mirth,  and  the 
prodigious  quantity  of  gossip  he  related,  that 
the  message  with  which  he  had  been  sent 
escaped  him  as  completely  as  though  he  had 
had  no  knowledge  of  it ;  and  Master  Shaks- 
peare rode  away  towards  Shottery,  unwarn- 
ed of  the  state  in  which  he  was  like  to  find 
matters  there.  Simon  rode  after  him,  but 
not  before  he  had  seen  the  two  singular  be- 
ings, whose  approach  had  so  much  alarmed 
him,  commence  again  their  unnatural  meth- 
od of  progress.  He  said  never  a  word,  but 
he  was  fully  satisfied,  extraordinary  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  that  the  men  of  Warwick- 
shire went  upon  four  legs. 

His  master  dismounted  when  within  a 
convenient  distance  of  the  cottage,  and  Si- 
mon held  tlie  horse  while  he  proceeded  to 
the  door.     It  struck  him  as  something  mar- 


106 


THE  SECRET  PASSION.' 


vcllous,  that  no  one  of  the  family  was  visi- 
ble in  or  about  the  house.  At  all  other 
times  they  were  wont  either  to  meet  him  in 
a  body,  within  a  mile  or  so  of  home  ;  or,  if 
circumstances  would  not  allow  of  this,  they 
were  about  tiie  door,  waiting  anxiously  for 
his  appearance ;  and,  directly  he  rode  up, 
the  cliildren  would  rush  towards  h'un  with 
loud  demonstrations  of  pleasure.  Now  not 
a  soul  had  he  seen,  and  the  place  was  as 
silent  as  though  it  had  been  deserted.  The 
doors  and  windows,  too,  were  all  carefully 
closed.  Even  of  Talbot,  a  still  more  rare 
occurrence,  there  was  no  sign. 

This  unusual  state  of  things  struck  the 
loving  father  and  husband  as  exceeding 
strange.  He  knocked  at  the  door.  No  an- 
swer was  returned  ;  but  on  listening,  he 
fancied  he  could  hear  some  persons  whis- 
pering insido.  He  knocked  still  louder, 
and  could  evidently  distinguish  the  voice 
of  his  tender  and  atiectionate  Susanna,  en- 
deavoring to  quiet  Talbot,  who  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  knocking.  Marvelling 
greatly  that  no  one  came,  though  there 
could  be  no  doubt  several  persons  were 
within,  and  knowing  he  had  sent  word  by  a 
trusty  hand  of  his  coming  at  this  very  time, 
ho  took  his  heavy  riding-whip  and  beat  the 
door  with  suflicient  violence  to  arouse  all 
the  people  in  the  house,  were  they  ever  so 
deaf,  and  also  raised  his  voice  to  its  highest 
pitch,  bidding  them  let  him  in.  No  sooner 
did  the  faithful  Talbot  hear  his  master's 
voice,  than  all  attempts  to  keep  him  silent 
were  vain  ;  he  barked  and  whined  most  vo- 
ciferously. It  then  appeared  that  he  was 
shut  up,  but  his  etforts  to  get  out  were  of 
the  most  violent  sort.  Still  Master  Shaks- 
peare  could  hear  three  or  four  individuals  at 
least,  carrying  on  an  animated  debate  in  a  low 
tone  of  voice.  He  could  hear  nothing  dis- 
tinctly, but  the  voices  appeared  to  be  those 
of  women. 

At  last,  on  his  loudly  asking  the  reason 
of  this  strange  reception  of  him,  the  win- 
dow over  his  head  was  slowly  thrown  open, 
and  there  appeared  at  it  the  strongly  mark- 
ed visage  of  Aunt  Prateapace.  She  put  on 
at  first  a  monstrous  friendly  manner,  and 
bade  her  kinsman  "  good  den,"  as  pleasantly 
as  you  please,  but,  upon  his  peremptorily 
insisting  npon  knowing  why  he  was  kept 
out  of  his  house  in  this  unheard-of  fashion, 
she  presently  raised  her  voice  to  the  true 
shrewish  pitch,  and,  as  Master  Shakspeare 
could  plainly  hear,  continually  prompted  by 
some  persons  behind  her  to  whom  i^he  ever 
and  anon  turned  her  head,  she  began  to  rate 
him  right  soundly,  and  let  him  know  "our 
Anne,"  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  her  family, 


had  come  to  the  proper  determination  of 
having  no  more  to  do^with  him  ;  therefore, 
he  might  take  himself  away  with  all  possi- 
ble haste. 

Master  Shakspeare  listened  to  this  tirade, 
fully  satisfied  that  the  three  old  harridans 
had  been  employing  their  talents  at  mis- 
chief-making with  more  than  ordinary  zeal ; 
but  proud,  weak,  and  willul  as  he  knew  his 
blooming  Anne  of  former  years  to  be,  he 
could  not  readily  believe  that  the  influence 
of  her  meddling  kinswomen  over  her  was 
so  great  as  to  induce  her  to  take  the  step 
which,  he  was  well  convinced,  they  had 
long  be'en  leading  her  to.  That  he  was 
greatly  moved  at  a  determination  so  unex- 
pected there  is  no  question  ;  but  he  kept  his 
feelings  under  control,  and  courteously  bade 
Aunt  Prateapace  acquaint  "  his  dear  bed- 
fellow" from  him,  that  he  was  exceeding 
anxious  to  see  her,  and  that  he  had  no  doubt 
in  the  world  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  would 
explain  all  apparent  evils  to  her  perfect  sat- 
isfaction, and  would  make  such  arrange- 
ments for  her  future  comfort  as  should  con- 
vince her  how  dear  to  him  was  her  happi- 
ness and  contentation. 

'•  In  sooth,  fairly  spoken,"  replied  Aunt 
Prateapace,  sharply.  "  But  our  Anne  hath 
had  enough  of  such  poor  bates  to  catch 
fools,  I  promise  you."  Here  she  disappear- 
ed, and  immediately  in  her  place  came  Aunt 
Breedbate,  looking  even  more  crabbed  than 
the  other. 

"  Take  your  fine  speeches  to  those  who 
are  willing  to  be  cajoled  by  them,"  she  said 
in  her  harshest  tones.  "  Our  Anne  hath  too 
much  sense,  ay,  and  spirit  too  as  becomes 
her,  i'  faith,  any  longer  to  be  made  a  con- 
venience of."  Thereupon,  she  took  in  her 
head,  and  it  was  straightway  replaced  by 
that  of  Aunt  Gadabout,  with  one  of  the 
most  fiercely  shrewish  of  her  shrewish 
looks. 

"  Wives  are  not  to  be  made  slaves  of, 
whatever  their  tyrants  of  husbands  may 
think  !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  scream  like  un- 
to that  of  an  angry  peacock.  '••  Our  Anne 
thinks  herself  made  of  better  stuff"  than  to 
be  a  poor  hout^ehold  drudge,  that  is  to  bo 
kept  at  home  whilst  her  unworthy  husband 
is  to  wander  about  the  world  at  his  plea- 
sure ;"  and  then  she  added  in  an  emphasis, 
and  with  a  look  that  spoke  pokers  and  tongs 
at  the  least,  "  An  I  had  a  husband  that 
would  use  me  so,  I  warrant  you  I  would 
teach  him  better  ere  he  was  a  week  older  !" 
"There  must  be  some  great  misunder- 
standing in  this  matter,"  replied  Muster 
Shakspeare  with  a  marvellous  sweet  pa- 
tience.     "  In  all  reasonable  things  Anne 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


107 


hath  ever  found  me  willing  to  indulge  her 
to  the  fullest  extent  of  ray  ability,  and  thi= 
I  am  always  ready  to  do." 

"  Therehath  been  nothing  of  tlic  sort  I  ' 
cried  Aant  Breedbate,  rudely. 

'■  Monstrous  reasonable,  forsooth  !"  ex- 
claimed Aunt  Prateapace,  taking  her  place 
at  the  casement  directly  she  left  it.  "  Pry- 
thee,  what  doSt  call  indulgence  ?  Dost  in- 
dulge her  by  the  horrible  injustice  of  keep- 
ing her  in  this  poor  place  by  herself,  whilst 
you  sometimes  for  a  whole  year  together 
care  not  to  come  near  her  once !  And  now, 
more  monstrous  still,  you  have  sent  her 
word  you  are  about  going.  Heaven  only 
knoweth  how  many  miles  away,  for  the  see- 
ing of  far  off  countries,  saying  never  a 
word  of  her  going  with  you,  larther  than  to 
state  you  would  like  it  of  all  things  ;  but  it 
could  not  in  any  way  be  brought  about — or 
some  such  poor  stuff.  If  she  put  up  with 
such  a  slight  as  this,  she  hath  no  more  wo- 
manly spirit  than  a  cracked  flea  !" 

"  Let  her  be  assured  that  no  slight  is  in- 
tended," said  Master  Shakspeare,  very  cer- 
tain it  could  not  have  been  taken  so  by  her 
unless  a  vast  deal  of  malicious  care  had 
been  used  to  give  it  that  color.  "My  ab- 
sence from  her  was  hrst  caused  by  necessity, 
and  by  necessity  hath  been  continued,  and 
all  the  years  it  hath  lasted,  she  hath  never 
to  my  knowledge  been  otherwise  than  satis- 
lied  It  should  so  remain.  As  for  my  intend- 
ed journey  out  of  England,  it  is  clean  out 
of  my  power  to  take  her  with  me,  even  were 
there  no  such  absolute  cause  existing  as 
there  is,  for  her  remaining  at  home  with  her 
children,  nor  do  I  think  so  ill  of  her  that 
she  would  ever  entertain  so  unworthy  an 
idea,  had  it  not  been  thrust  upon  her  mind 
by  the  perverse  exertions  of  a  set  of  worth- 
less mischief-makers." 

"  Mischief-makers  !"  here  eagerly  ex- 
claimed all  three,  putting  out  their  several 
heads  at  the  same  moment,  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  guilty  consciousness,  and  the 
most  absolute  rage.  Forthwith  each  vigor- 
ously disclaimed  having  any  thing  to  do  in 
the  matter,  vowing  nothing  was  so  far  from 
their  thoughts.  They  stoutly  and  with  an 
infinite  lack  of  civility  insisted  that  they  had 
a  right  to  see  that  '  our  Anne'  had  justice 
done  her,  and  that  they  could  not  allow  of 
her  being  so  trampled  on  as  she  was  with- 
out feeling  for  her  unhappy,  distressed  state 
— tliat  they  thought  it  particularly  commen- 
dable of  her  acting  as  she  did,  and  that  they 
would  give  her  the  benefit  of  their  counte- 
nance and  advice,  in  spite  of  all  the  mon- 
strous tyrannical  husbands  that  could  be 
found. 


Much  more  they  might  have  said  to  the 
same  purpose,  had  not  Aunt  Prateapace,  in 
her  impatience  to  be  heard,  interrupted  Aunt 
Gadabout  somewhat  sharply,  which  was  re- 
plied to  in  a  terrible  savage  humor,  where- 
upon a  squabble  ensued  betwixt  them,  which 
Aunt  Breedbate  did  all  she  could  to  increase. 
In  the  midst  of  their  mutual  bickerings  and 
revelations,  Master  Shakspeare,  much  ex- 
cited, declared  that  he  insisted  on  seeing 
and  hearing  from  their  kinswoman  the  de- 
termination they  had  stated  she  had  resolved 
on.  This  took  tliem  from  the  window  m  a 
very  brief  space. 

A  long  and  vigorous  discussion  followed, 
which  could  not  be  distinctly  heard  by  the 
outraged  husband,  though  he  could  distin- 
guish the  noisy  hum  of  many  voices.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  others  than  the  mis- 
chievous three  shared  in  the  conference,  and 
he  more  than  once  fancied  he  could  detect 
the  tones  of  the  high-spirited  Judith  and  the 
affectionate  Susanna. 

The  result  of  the  discussion  was,  that 
Mistress  Anne  made  her  appearance  at  the 
window,  but  not  before  he  had  plainly  heard 
such  phrases  as.  "  Hold  thee  a  good  spirit, 
Aime  !"  •  "Never  be  made  a  slave  of!" 
"  An  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  cajoled,  you 
descme  all  the  ill-usage  and  neglect  it  can- 
not nelp  but  bring  you  !"  with  divers  others 
of  a  like  tendency.  Her  visage  did  not  be- 
speak any  very  terrible  grievances,  though 
there  was  a  certain  expression  of  discontent 
in  it.  She  had  still  some  pretensions  to  be 
considered  the  blooming  Anne,  though  pretty 
well  a  score  of  years  had  passed  smce  first 
that  title  had  been  bestowed  upon  her.  But 
she  valued  her  good  looks  too  highly  not  to 
have  taken  particular  care  of  them. 

Master  Shakspeare,  at  sight  of  her,  urged 
all  arguments  that  a  fond  husband  could  be 
expected  to  have,  to  bring  her  to  reason  and 
show  her  the  folly  of  persisting  in  a  course 
of  conduct  so  unworthy  of  her :  but  she  had 
been  too  well  instructed  in  her  lesson  to  al- 
low the  proper  influence  of  any  thing  of  the 
sort.  She  answered  with  a  Arm  show  of  re- 
solution, that  she  considered  herself  to  have 
been  exceedingly  ill  used,  and  that  she  would 
endure  it  no  longer.  Her  husband  tried 
every  possible  exertion  to  induce  her  to  give 
up  so  unworthy  a  determination,  and  pro- 
mised many  additional  enjoyments,  would 
she  determine  more  wisely.  But  the  prompt- 
ings became  now  eager  and  audible,  "  Not 
to  be  cozened,"  and,  "  to  show  a  proper  spi- 
rit." Unfortunately  for  herself,  either 
through  fear  or  inclination,  she  took  too 
much  heed  of  them,  and  answered  she  had 


108 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


considered  tho  matter  well,  and  had  resolved 
to  change  not  her  course. 

'I'his  seemed  so  far  to  satisfy  her  husband 
tliat  he  left  oft"  pressing  the  point,  though  he 
wore  a  very  disturbed  countenance.  He 
asked  to  see  his  dauchters  that  he  miglit  at 
least  have  the  pleasure  of  bciiolding  their 
improved  appearance,  and  enjoy  their  love 
after  his  j<nirney,  as  it  was  not  likely  he 
could  promise  himself  that  pleasure  for  some 
time.  Thereupon,  one  of  the  aunts  an- 
swered tartly,  liiat,  as  was  exceeding  pro- 
per and  natural,  the  children  shared  in  the 
sentiments  of  their  mother,  and  that  neitlier 
of  them  wished  to  have  further  speech  with 
him. 

At  this  cruel  speech,  all  the  father  was 
in  his  heart,  and  ho  replied,  with  an  ex- 
treme earnestness,  he  could  not  believe  in 
anything  so  monstrous  and  undutiful.  It 
was  almost  too  unnatural  a  thing  to  be  con- 
ceived that  children  should  be  so  set  against 
a  loving  parent,  and  he  inveighed  bitterly 
against  the  ^luthors  of  this  atrocious  mis- 
chief. How  much  more  was  his  affectionate 
heart  wrung  by  soon  afterwards  beholding 
Judith,  who  too,  doubtless,  had  been  well 
taught  her  lesson,  appear  with  an  unbecom- 
ing boldness  at  the  casement,  and  express 
herself  very  rudely. 

Whether  he  so  misliked  this  last  di^  in 
his  cup  of  bitterness,  or  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  strive  further  to  obtain  more  alfecti- 
onate  trentment.  cannot  be  said, — but  the 
speech  had  scarce  been  uttered  when  he 
hastily  left  the  place,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  rode  full  speed  from  the  door,  as  though 
he  was  anxious  to  be  as  quick  as  possible  a 
thousand  miles  away.  Simon  Stockfish, 
who  had  been  an  amazed  spectator  and 
hearer  of  all  that  had  passed,  lost  no  time 
in  following ;  but  what  he  had  already  seen 
and  heard  of  the  people  who  were  natural 
to  the  place,  suificed  to  satisfy  him  that  they 
were  a  sort  of  savages,  who  had  as  mon- 
strous a  way  of  receiving  a  tender  father 
and  husband,  after  a  long  journey,  as  they 
had  of  taking  an  ordinary  ramble  on  the 
king's  highway. 

Master  Shakspeare  did  not  draw  rein  till 
he  arrived  at  the  porch  of  the  goodly  man- 
sion of  his  excellent  friend,  Sir  George  Ca- 
rew.  That  estimable,  worthy  gentleman, 
and  approved  good  soldier,  chanced,  at  the 
time,  to  be  sitting  at  an  oj)en  window  on  the 
ground-floor,  giving  orders  to  some  of  his 
people  who  were  employed  in  clipping  some 
old  yew-trees  into  the  strange  hgures  then 
in  fashion.  But  o)i  the  instant  he  caught 
sight  of  his  visitor,  riding  like  a  post,  with 
a  wild,  unnatural  look,  such  as  he  had  ne- 


ver seen  in  him  before,  he  made  no  more  to 
do  but  leaped  out  of  the  window  as  nimbly  as 
ever  he  could  have  done  in  his  youth,  in  the 
fullest  conviction  that  something  dreadful 
was  the  matter. 

Giving  orders  to  one  of  his  varlets  to  look 
to  the  horses,  he  lost  no  time  in  leading  his 
disturbed  friend  into  a  retired  chamber, 
where,  in  a  strange,  incohere'nt,  passionate 
manner,  the  latter  made  known  to  him  how 
matters  stood.  At  this  the  valiant  old  sol- 
dier was  greatly  moved,  and  with  no  small 
stock  of  soldier-like  oaths  did  he  denounce 
the  conduct  of  the  three  old  mischief-mak- 
ers, whose  dishonest  meddling  had  disturbed 
his  friend's  peace,  and  he  strove,  as  well  as 
he  was  able,  to  console  him. 

But  the  unhappy  father  was  then  in  no 
mood  to  profit  by  his  kindly  intentions.  The 
iron  seemed  to  have  entered  into  his  soul, 
and  he  did  nought  in  the  world  but  rave,  in 
an  unconnected  and  vehement  manner,  on 
the  singular  and  hateful  ingratitude  of  his 
daughters.  He  burst  but  with  a  passionate 
phrenzy  of  language  that  was  quite  awful 
to  hear.  His  words  seemed  to  flow  from  his 
mouth  like  a  stream  of  living  fire.  All  the 
agonies  of  a  great  heart,  hurt  in  its  tender- 
est  part,  were  shown  in  him  both  by  lan- 
guage and  action — for  his  movements  were 
no  less  wild  iind  forcible  than  his  speech. — 
In  brief,  it  presently  showed  such  undenia- 
ble signs  of  a  disturbed  mind,  that  Sir 
George,  in  great  concern,  despatched  mes- 
sengers for  the  nearest  cliirurgeon,  and  his 
guest  was  shortly  carried  to  a  chamber  that 
was  immediately  prepared  for  him,  in  a  fit 
of  raving,  of  so  outrageous  a  sort,  it  took 
several  persons  to  restrain  him. 

In  this  state  he  continued  for  several  days, 
to  the  terrible  alarm  and  grief  of  his  approved 
good  friend,  Sir  George  Carew,  and  to  the 
no  less  concern  of  his  sedate  and  trusty  serv- 
ing-man, Simon  Stockfish,  whose  grave 
countenance  took  on  it  an  expression  infin- 
itely more  serious,  as  he  witnessed  the 
course  of  his  worthy  master's  malady.  With 
so  sharp  a  sickness  as  he  had,  it  was  won- 
derful to  hear  with  what  intensity  his  mind 
would  run  on,  on  the  subject  of  his  children's 
disobediency.  He  seemed  to  have  but  one 
subject  for  his  thoughts,  that  could  hold  it 
for  any  length  of  time  ;  for,  although  his 
mind  would  wander  from  time  to  time  to 
other  matters,  it  quickly  returned  to  the  one 
theme,  and  thereupon  treated  it  in  so  mov- 
ing a  manner,  it  was  truly  pitiful  to  hear 
him. 

He  would  seem,  to  be  addressing  his 
daughter,  Judith  ;  and  would  pour  out  such 
a  tempest  of  bitter  reproach  for  her  contu- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


109 


macy,  that  the  ob^hiratest  heart  ever  heard 
of  must  have  shrunk  under  it.  Perchance 
she  might  have  been  all  the  better,  had  she 
been  brought  in  to  hear  it — it  could  scarce- 
ly have  failed  to  have  touched  Iier  nearly. 
Indilferent  as  she  seem?d  to  the  ties  that 
bind  the  child  to  the  parent,  it  must  have 
wakened  in  her  a  proper  sense  of  her  intol- 
erable ingratitude.  Jiut  the  style  in  which 
he,  in  his  unhappy  conceit,  discoursed  to  his 
daughter,  Susanna,  was  of  a  totally  diJerenl 
sort.  The  bruised  lieart  of  the  loving  fither 
was  apparent  in  every  word.  Tiie  speech 
was  gentle,  loving,  and  pregnant  with  a 
melancholy  tenderness.  It  spoke  of  the  un- 
utterable delight  those  tokens  of  an  affecti- 
onate nature  she  had  previously  displayed 
had  given  to  her  doting  f.itlicr  ;  and  how  oft 
he  had  strove  to  show  to  her,  by  every  kind 
of  acccptalile  remembrance,  how  exceeding 
dear  she  was  to  him;  and  then  it  entered 
into  the  monstrous  cruelty  of  suffering  one 
who  had  made  for  her  so  high  a  place  in  his 
heart  to  be  so  stricken  by  h  ir  hand  as  tD  make 
t!io  horri blest  torture  of  body  to  be  desired  in 
preference. 

Tliere  wns  so  much  sweet  earnestness, 
and  a  misery  so  sharp  in  the  manner  in 
which  all  this  was  spoken,  that  there  was 
not  a  dry  eye  in  the  chamber  during  its  ut- 
terance. Many  of  his  most  esteemed  friends 
at  Stratford,  and  thereabouts,  hastened  to 
the  mansion  of  Sir  George  Carew,  as  soon 
as  they  heard  of  the  lamentable  sickness 
t'rat  had  overtaken  so  v/orthy  a  man  ;  and 
when  they  learned,  as  they  quickly  did,  that 
it  arose  Irom  the  ill-behavior  to  him  of  his 
family,  there  was  a  general  denunciation  of 
one  and  all. 

The  three  meddling  busy-bodies,  in  espe- 
cial, were  spoken  of  in  good  set  terms. — 
They  were  in  considerable  ill  repute  in  and 
about  Shottery.  as  it  was  ;  and  the  account 
Simon  Stockfish  gave  of  their  appearance 
in  this  unhappy  business,  whilst  it  satisfied 
all  v.'ho  had  in  any  way  heard  of  their  pranks, 
that  the  whole  matter  had  been  one  of  their 
handling,  spread  their  bad  names  far  and 
wide.  All  tho*c  persons  who  felt  a  proper 
respi.'ct  for  IMaster  Shakspeare  would  have 
no  sort  of  association  with  them,  and  the 
feeling  against  them  became  at  last  so  strong, 
that  even  some  of  their  most  familiar  gossips 
thought  it  best  to  hold  them  at  a  convenient 
distance. 

Their  kinswoman,  too.  Mistress  Anne, 
was  greatly  condemned  for  being  so  led 
against  her  husband  by  such  bad  counsel- 
lors. As  for  Susanna  and  Judith,  it  ap- 
peared as  if  nothing  could  be  said  of  them 
sufficiently  condenmatory.     To   behave  in 


so  contumacious  a  manner,  particularly  to 
a  father,  who  gave  them  so  many  proofs  of 
his  prodigal  love  and  kindness,  was  sad  evi- 
dence of  a  natural  badness  of  lieart :  and  it 
was  confidently  prognosticated  that  disobedi- 
ent children  of  this  sort  must  needs  come  to 
an  evil  end. 

To  the  great  joy  of  all  his  friends,  after 
some  days,  the  violence  of  Master  Shaks- 
poare's  fever  showed  some  abatement,  and 
he  began  gradually  to  recover.  Sir  George 
Carew  had  sent  several  times  to  the  cottage 
at  Shottery,  in  hopes  of  getting  the  family 
of  his  guest  to  act  more  becomingly  ;  but 
his  messengers  met  with  no  one  but  the 
three  arch  instruments  of  mischief,  and  they 
had  set  their  hearts  too  strongly  on  the  evil 
they  were  doing,  to  allow  of  its  being  set 
aside — therefore,  nothing  but  unsatisfactory 
answers  had  been  obtained.  This,  when  his 
guest  was  sufficiently  recovered.  Sir  George 
thought  proper  to  inform  him  of;  and  the 
intelligence  was  so  distasteful,  that,  waiting 
only  to  make  some  arrangements  which 
should  secure  ample  comforts  for  the  unna- 
tural inhabitants  of  the  Cottage,  he  must 
needs  take  himself  at  once  to  London. 

He  vowed  he  would  never  again  seek  a 
roof  whence  he  had  been  so  shamefully  dri- 
ven, and  was  in  a  monstrous  hurry  to  get  as 
far  as  possible  from  it.  Without  waiting  to 
gain  a  proper  strength,  he  started  off,  mak- 
ing as  little  delay  on  the  journey  as  he  could 
help  ;  whereof  the  consequence  was,  that, 
when  his  faithful  old  serving-man  had  got 
him  saffly  within  his  dwelling,  in  the  Liber- 
ty of  the  Clink,  his  intense  an.xiety,  over- 
fatigue, and  unhappiness  of  mind,  brought 
on  a  relapse,  which  caused  him  to  be  worse 
even  than  he  was  before.  Simon  thought 
he  could  not  do  better  than  send  for  his  old 
master's  son,  and,  very  shortly  afterwards, 
John  Hall  was  at  the  bedside  of  his  patient, 
and,  as  ho  ascertained,  not  before  he  had 
been  wanted  there. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

A  modest  maid  decked  with  a  blush  of  honor, 
Whose  feet  do  tread  green  paths  of  youth  and 

love  ; 
The  wonder  of  all  eyes  that  look  upon  her  ; 
Sacred  on  earth  ;  designed  a  saint  above  ; 
Chastity  and  Beauty,  which  are  deadly  foes. 
Live  reconciled  friends  within  her  brow. 

Samuel  Daniel. 

Whatever  success  the  three  villanous 
ministers  of  mischief  met  with  in  their  pro- 


110 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


cecdings  in  the  cottage  atShottery,  they  had 
no  iiiaiincr  of  assistance  in  it  from  tlie  gen- 
tle ami  tendor-hcarted  Susanna.  But,  it  is 
believed,  they  hold  her  in  so  little  account, 
they  cared  for  none  at  her  hands.  She  was 
in  no  way  consulted  in  the  matter.  Never- 
theles.-?,  she  regarded  the  whole  proceedings 
witli  the  most  intense  interest.  She  listened 
to  all  the  plans  and  arguments  of  the  arch- 
conspirators  with  a  feverish  impatience,  and 
when  she  heard  her  dear  father  abused,  she 
could  scarce  refrain  from  calling  the  slan- 
derers to  task  for  their  insolency.  However, 
she  knew  of  old  what  little  good  was  like  to 
arise  from  any  interference  on  her  part  ; 
therefore,  she  was  fain  to  hold  her  peace,  and 
weep  in  silence. 

Her  knowledge  of  such  vile  behavior, 
shown  to  one  whom  she  so  greatly  loved  and 
venerated,  preyed  on  her  spirits  so  that  she 
could  take  no  pleasure  in  any  thing.  Most 
unhappily  the  day  passed  over,  and  most 
wretched  was  the  day  that  followed.  She 
was  exceeding  anxious  to  have  some  certain 
intelligence  of  her  father,  but  she  heard  no- 
thing trom  the  villanous  conclave  who  ruled 
the  little  household  of  which  she  was  so  un- 
important a  member,  that  was  sufficiently  to 
the  purpose,  and  she  knew  but  too  well  the 
unprofitableness  of  asking. 

To  such  a  height  at  last  arose  her  anxie- 
ty, that  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  she 
t'iW  into  a  violent  hysterical  fit,  that  did  so 
weaken  her,  that  she  was  forced  to  keep  her 
bed  for  several  days.  She  thus  remained 
in  entire  ignorance  of  the  critical  state  of 
liealth  of  that  beloved  object  to  whom  all 
her  thoughts  had  lately  been  so  painfully 
devoted.  It  was  more  than  a  week  before 
she  was  so  far  recovered  she  could  return 
to  her  usual  duties.  For  some  reason  or 
other,  there  was  little  then  said,  either  by 
her  mother,  sister,  or  aunts  concerning  her 
father.  If  they  conversed  on  that  subject, 
they  took  care  to  do  so  when  she  was  not 
by.  This  conduct  perplexed  her  exceed- 
ingly. Desiring  more  every  hour  to  learn 
how  her  dear  father  took  the  monstrous  un- 
kindness  that  had  been  shown  him,  and 
longing  most  heartily  to  find  some  means  of 
acquainting  him,  that  in  her  heart,  at  least, 
there  was  a  proper  love  and  obediency  to- 
wards him,  Susanna  sought  an  opportunity 
of  going  to  Stratford,  in  the  hope  of  learn- 
ing from  her  merry  kinswoman,  Joan  Hart, 
with  vvho.n  she  had  ever  been  an  especial 
favorite,  all  that  she  knew  of  the  matter,  her 
ignorance  of  which  so  distressed  her. 

She  found  little  dirllculty  in  this,  and  in 
a  state  of  mind  made  up  of  rejoicing,  that 
she  was  now  pretty  sure  of  hearing  intelli- 


gence of  her  father,  and  a  dread  that  it 
might  be  of  a  terrible  bad  complexion,  she 
proceeded  as  rapidly  as  she  could  towards 
Stratford.  She  had  not  left  the  cottage 
far  behind  her,  when  her  attention  w^as  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and  she 
soon  discerned  two  horsemen  coming  from 
the  place  to  which  she  was  going.  One  of 
these  she  perceived  was  Sir  George  Carew, 
and  the  other  young  Squire  Clopton. 

She  had  never  met  the  former  without 
his  showing  towards  her  a  most  kind  and 
fatherly  attention.  He  would  stop  her 
wherever  they  chanced  to  meet,  and  make 
all  manner  of  friendly  inquiries  respecting 
her  and  her  mother  and  sister,  and  would 
usually  inform  her  of  some  piece  of  pleas- 
ant news  respecting  her  father,  lie  had 
heard  from  some  trustworthy  intelligencer, 
and  he  would  season  his  discourse  with  cer- 
tain pretty  commendations  of  Iiis  own  re- 
garding her  appearance,  that  never  failed 
to  call  a  blush  to  her  cheek,  and  a  touch  of 
grateful  pleasure  to  her  breast ;  and  there- 
upon he  would  take  his  leave  of  her  with  a 
show  of  gallantry,  as  though  she  were  as 
greatly  in  his  esteem  as  his  own  lady. 

The  young  squire,  also,  had  not  been 
wont  to  pass  her  by  uniieeded  Indeed,  it 
the  truth  must  be  told,  this  was  very  far 
from  the  case.  He  had  seen  something  of 
a  camp  life,  and  moreover  something  of 
a  court  life,  the  which  the  great  repute  his 
kinsman  and  guardian  enjoyed  in  both 
places  threw  open  to  him,  but  he  had  brought 
little  from  either,  save  an  inordinate  love  of 
brave  apparel,  and  a  desire  of  distinguish- 
ing himself  as  an  irresistible  fine  gallant. 

The  beauty  of  Susanna  Shakspeare 
seemed  sufficient  to  entitle  her  to  as  prodi- 
gal an  extent  of  gallantry  as  it  was  in  his 
power  to  evince.  Therefore,  he  sought 
every  opportunity  to  meet  her  when  she 
was  abroad,  or  see  her  alone  when  she  Vv'as 
at  home,  at  which  times  there  was  sure  to 
be  as  fair  a  selection  of  sugared  phrases 
and  dainty  conceits  on  his  part,  as  might 
have  sufficed  for  the  use  of  some  half  a  do- 
zen of  the  perfectest  gallant*of  the  time. 

As  Susanna  felt  fully  satisfied  that  one 
or  both  these  persons  would  detain  her,  she 
was  by  no  means  pleased  at  meeting  them. 
Notwithstanding  she  was  sure  they  were 
both  well  inclined  to  make  their  greetings 
as  gallant  to  her  as  possible.  Right  glad- 
ly would  she  have  got  out  of  their  way — 
so  desirous  was  she  of  using  all  speed  to 
get  to  Joan  ILirt's  for  the  one  great  purpose 
with  which  she  had  bit  the  cottage — but 
there  was  no  time  to  avoid  them,  they  came 
at  such  speed. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Ill 


As  she  fully  expected,  they  both  reined 
in  their  horses  at  sight  of  her,  but  how 
much  was  she  astonished,  when,  instead  of 
tilt)  exceeding  courteous  and  Mattering  at- 
tentions she  had  ever  before  received  from 
him,  Sir  George  shouted  to  her  with  a  stern 
voice  and  manner; — "  So,  Mistress  Susan- 
na !  a  pretty  daughter  thou  hast  proved 
thyself— a  murrain  on  thee !  I  hope  thou 
wilt  be  satisfied  witli  thy  horrible  and  un- 
natural disobediency,  now  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  it,  thy  poor  unhappy  father,  as  I 
have  just  been  credibly  informed,  is  lying 
at  death's  door,  in  his  lodging  at  South- 
vvark."  Saying  this.  Sir  George  put  spurs 
to  his  horse,  and,  followed  by  his  compan- 
ion, was  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving  the  mis- 
erable Susanna  like  one  stunned  by  the 
overwhelming  intelligence  she  had  so  unex- 
pectedly heard. 

As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  so  far  as 
to  proeeed,  she  bsnt  her  steps  towards  the 
well-known  dwelling  of  her  jovial  kinsman. 
Tommy  Hart.  Here  she  found  evidence 
that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be,  for  not  a 
sign  of  mirth  of  any  sort  was  visible. — 
Strange  to  say,  Tommy  and  his  merry  bed- 
fellow Were  completely  chapfallen,  and  Jo- 
nas Tictape,  who  had  come  to  comfort  them, 
was  for  a  marvel  standing  quietly  on  his 
legs — a  sure  sign  he  was  in  no  very  pleas- 
ant lunnor  himself.  Their  faces,  instead  of 
the  joyous  expression  they  were  wont  to 
iiave,  seemed  monstrous  sorrowful.  Joan 
was  crying,  as  it  was  believed,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  and  her  husband  and  his 
gossip  looked  on  the  point  of  following  her 
example. 

Susanna  soon  learned  the  cause  of  this 
wondrous  change.  They  had  just  learned 
tiiat  her  estimable,  worthy  father  was  sick 
of  a  fever,  and  reduced  to  so  sore  a  strait 
as  to  be  given  over  by  his  physicians.  She 
heard  the  news  with  an  appearance  of  indif- 
ferency  that  made  her  friends  half  inclined 
to  think  there  was  an  infinite  lack  of  the 
loving  daughter  in  her ;  but  they  did  her 
huge  injustice.  The  blow  struck  her  so 
forcibly,  it  seemed  to  have  stilled  all  her 
emotions.  She  could  not  feel.  All  sense 
seemed  dead  in  her  for  the  time. 

There  was  a  good  deal  said  by  one  and 
the  other  respecting  what  had  been  done  in 
the  cottage,  and  a  full  measiire  of  indigna- 
tion was  poured  out  upon  the  authors  of  the 
horrid  mischief,  but  Susanna  heard  not  a 
word, — and  even  the  forms  of  those  present 
had  ceased  to  find  a  place  in  her  vision. 
She  was  as  one  stone  deaf  and  stone  blind.  _ 

When  consciousness  returned  to  her,  she 
Bought  an  excuse  for  hurrying  away,  for,  in 


sooth,  she  was  in  no  mood  for  society  of  any 
sort,  and  returned  with  what  haste  she  could 
to  Shottery.  She  thought  much  and  deeply, 
and  could  not  reflect  on  the  imminent  dan- 
ger of  her  father  without  a  shudder.  She 
frequently  endeavored  to  be  alone  on  that 
day,  and  succeeded.  Much  self-accusation 
— much  bitter  remorse — visited  her,  for  not 
having  assured  her  parent  that  she  had  no 
part  in  the  unnatural  proceedings  against 
him ;  and  then  there  would  come  question- 
ings as  to  what  was  now  her  proper  line  of 
duty. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  gave  these 
matters  her  closest  attention  ;  for,  early  the 
next  morning,  before  any  of  the  family  were 
astir,  after  a  fervent  prayer  that  God  would 
prosper  her  in  her  perilous  undertaking,  .she 
first  crept  into  the  chamber  where  her  mo- 
ther and  sister  were  asleep,  and  kissed  them 
both  without  disturbing  them  ;  then,  fully 
equipped  for  a  long  journej',  and  as  well 
furnished  for  it  as  it  was  possible,  in  her 
state,  she  crept  softly  out  of  the  house.  She 
lingered  awhile  upon  the  threshold,  and  then 
made  her  way  to  the  ordinary  resting-place 
of  Talbot,  who  made  not  the  slightest  dis- 
turbance, for,  though  he  was  fully  awake, 
he  knew  her  step,  light  as  it  was,  and  would 
have  known  it  from  a  thousand. 

She  fondled  him,  and,  as  she  did  so,  shed 
n;any  tears,  for  he  had  long  been  regarded 
by  her  as  the  only  true  friend  she  had  in  her 
own  home,  and  the  noble  hound  whined, 
and  seemed  exceeding  restless  as  he  return- 
ed her  caresses,  after  his  fashion.  At  last, 
she  left  him  where  he  was, — doubtless, 
much  against  his  will — and  took  her  way 
along  the  high  road.  She  did  not  expect  in 
her  own  neighborliood,  if  she  met  any  one 
at  that  early  hour,  to  be  closely  questioned 
as  to  her  being  abroad  at  such  a  time,  as  it 
was  no  unusual  thing  for  her  to  be  so  early 
afoot ;  and  as  she  advanced,  she  did  not  fear 
that  strangers  would  be  inconveniently  cu- 
rious, for  it  was  a  common  thing  with  a  coun- 
try girl,  such  as  she  seemed,  to  be  met,  going 
of  her  errands  to  the  nearest  town,  as  soon 
as  it  was  day. 

Her  great  care  and  anxiety  was  to  re- 
member the  names  of  the  different  towns 
that  lay  betwixt  her  own  village  and  the  fair 
city  of  Oxford,  for  her  object  was  to  get  there 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  and  thence  to 
find  her  way  to  London.  As  to  her  induce- 
ment to  undertake  so  long  and  hazardous  a 
journey  for  one  of  her  delicate  nature,  me- 
thinks  there  needs  no  great  trouble  to  dis- 
cover it.  The  deep  affection  she  bore  her 
loved  and  honored  father,  her  exceeding 
anxiousness  to  show  she  was  not  so  unna- 


112 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


turally  indiflVrcnt  to  him  as  flio  fciircd  lie 
had  been  led  to  believe,  and  an  earnest  hope 
tliat  she  miglit  bo  enabled,  by  cont^tunt  and 
caTcful  attendance,  to  adiriinister  to  his  re- 
covery, all  helped  in  it.  Such  inducement 
as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  carry  her  along-  I'a- 
mously.  The  very  sad  expression  of  her 
young  and  beautiful  face  appeared  to  be 
fad  ng  away  under  an  aspect  of  cheerful- 
ness such  as  she  had  been  a  strariger  to  a 
long  time. 

She  had  so  often  hoard  her  father  mention 
the  manner  and  way  of  his  journeys  to  and 
from  London,  she  was  under  no  fear  that, 
with  what  she  remembered,  and  what  infor- 
mation she  might  acquire  by  asking,  she 
should  miss  her  way  ;  nor  was  she  under 
any  apprehension  as  to  the  kind  of  treat- 
ment she  might  meet  with.  For  the  first 
hour  or  two,  she  saw  none  but  laborers  go- 
ing to  their  work  in  the  fields,  w'ho  gave  her 
a  civil  greeting  and  passed  on ;  yet  not 
without  being  especially  impressed  in  lier 
favor  by  her  neat  and  pleasing  appearance. 
Anon,  a  farmer  or  substantial  yeoman  would 
come  by  on  horseback,  going  to  look  after 
his  farm-servants,  or  to  be  at  market  be- 
times, and  would  venture  upon  some  com- 
mendation of  her  remarkable  comeliness, 
which  she  would  receive  with  a  proper  mo- 
desty that  increased  their  regard.  And  then 
she  met  wayl'arers  of  all  sorts,  from  the  huiji- 
blest  vagrant,  trudging  vvea,rily  afoot,  to  the 
the  powerfuUest  noble,  surrounded  by  a  train 
of  serving-men,  in  their  coats  and  badges, 
on  fair  horses,  perchance  speeding  on  an  er- 
rand of  state. 

But  it  often  happened  that  she  continued 
her  journey  for  a  long  time  without  meeting 
any  one.  When  she  began  to  feel  tired,  she 
sat  herself  down  a  little  from  the  road,  and 
refreshed  herself  with  what  victual  she  had 
brought  with  her.  The  birds  were  twitter- 
ing in  the  hedges,  apparently  their  little 
hearts  greatly  re,oicing  at  the  brightness  of 
the  day ;  and  every  thing,  animate  and  in- 
animate, looked  to  be  full  of  a  like  pleasant 
spirit.  Had  she  been  in  the  mood,  doubtless 
she  would  have  regarded,  with  an  admiring 
feye,  the  richness  of  the  landscape  outsjjread 
before  her.  Wood  and  water,  field  and  or- 
cliard,  with  here  and  there  a  windmill,  a 
farm-house,  a  stately  mansion,  an  ancient 
church,  and  a  straggling  group  of  cottages, 
made  a  choice  picture  for  the  eye  ;  but  Su- 
sanna could  not  now  give  her  attention  to 
such  graces,  however  attractive  they  might 
be.  Her  thoughts  were  with  lu^r  sick  pa- 
rent ;  and  her  anxiety  to  get  to  him  made 
lier  regardless  of  every  other  thing  what- 
soever. 


She  soon  finished  her  h;; sty  meal ;  and, 
after  a  draught  at  a  n(ighboiiiigsi)ring,  con- 
tinued on  her  way  with  renewed  sjiirit.  She 
came  to  where  two  roads  met,  and  which 
of  them  she  ouglit  to  take  she  knew  not. — 
She  had  no  knowledge  of  where  either  led 
to,  and  there  was  none  near  to  whom  she 
could  make  inquiries;  but,  after  a  fev/  mi- 
nutes of  uneasy  hesitation,  she  went  for- 
ward at  a  hazard.  A  man  passed  her  soon 
afterwards,  riding  on  a  stout  horse  ;  and, 
seeing  a  young  girl,  of  a  more  than  ordi- 
nary comeliness,  going  his  road,  as  he 
thought,  he  stopped,  and  was  so  civil  as  to 
ask  her  to  ride  beside  him  as  far  as  she  lik- 
ed. Susanna  did  not  greatly  incline  to  trust 
herself  to  a  stranger,  but  her  anxiousness  to 
get  forward  with  all  haste  overbalanced  her 
fears  ;  and,  after  a  scrutiny  of  the  man's 
features,  which  were  noticeable  for  good 
hiimor  and  honesty,  she  accepted  his  ofier, 
and  a  minute  after  was  jogging  along  Viith 
liim  like  a  farmer  and  his  wife  going  to  mar- 
ket. 

Her  confidence  was  not  misplaced,  for  be 
behaved  with  a  kindness,  though  of  a  rusti- 
cal sort,  which  showed  the  goodness  of  his 
nature.  He  asked  very  few  questions,  seem- 
ing to  take  his  companion  lor  what  she  ap- 
peared, a  yeoman's  daughter  going  to  the 
market-town  to  make  purchases,  but  he  rea- 
dily answered  what  questions  were  put  to 
him,  by  which  she  gained  much  information 
of  infinite  value  to  her  in  her  present  under- 
taking. The  horse  they  rede  was  a  great 
fat  creature,  of  the  cart-horse  breed,  deco- 
rated with  gay  ribbons  ;  and  the  man  was 
taking  it  to  a  cattle-fair,  at  a  town  some 
twenty  miles  off,  with  the  hope  of  getting  a 
good  price  for  it.  Dobbin's  speed,  therefore, 
was  not  very  great ;  but,  as  it  was  faster 
than  her  own  travelling  pace,  and  promised 
to  forward  her  twenty  miles  on  her  journey, 
Susanna  was  well  content  she  had  got  on  his 
broad  back. 

On  their  way,  as  her  companion  stopped 
to  victual  Dobbin,  he  took  care  his  fellow- 
traveller  should  be  provided  for  in  a  like 
maimer  ;  and,  having  borrowed  a  pad  for  her 
to  ride  on,  they  resumed  their  journey,  la 
due  time  they  came  to  the  town  to  which 
Dobbin  was  bound,  and  not  without  souk' 
sort  of  regret  from  his  owner,  who  had  got 
so  content  with  the  ple.asant  couipiiny  ho 
had  had,  he  was  not  willing  to  be  so  s(jon 
quit  of  it ;  nevertheless,  with  a  wondrous 
show  of  good-will,  he  was  fain  to  lake  his 
leave,  and  Susanna  proceeded  alone  on  her 
road.  She  had  managed  to  get  such  minute 
directions  from  her  recent  acquaintance,  that 
she  was  now  pretty  confident  she  should  be 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


113 


able  to  find  her  way  without  any  very  great 
difficulty.  The  town  was  crowded  by  buy- 
ers and  sellers,  and  a  liberal  sprinkling  of 
idle  spectators  ;  but  she  passed  on,  heedless 
of  pedlars,  mountebanks,  dancing-bears,  and 
motions  of  the  rarest  quality  ever  exhibited, 
though  nought  was  left  by  them  undone  to 
stay  her  steps. 

Having  got  completely  free  of  the  fair, 
and  all  its  wild  uproar  and  confusion,  she 
found  herself  passing  over  a  wide  common, 
overgrown  with  furze,  with  here  and  there 
a  pollard,  or  blackthorn,  the  deep  silence  of 
which  contrasted  very  forcibly  with  the  bu- 
sy scene  she  had  left  behind.  Here  she  had 
full  leisure  to  consult  her  thoughts  ;  and 
this  she  did  with  so  huge  an  intentness, 
having  them  directed  to  a  subject  of  no  less 
interest  than  her  sick  father,  that  she  was 
unaware  of  being  closely  watched,  and  her 
steps  dogged  by  a  savage-looldng  woman, 
of  a  complexion  like  unto  an  Indian  in 
brownness,  dressed  in  tattered  weeds,  coarse 
and  patched,  that  spoke  of  vagrancy  m  every 
fold,  and  had  a  child  at  her  back,  with  a  vis- 
age peeping  over  her  shoulder  of  a  like  dark- 
ness with  her  own. 

She  appeared  a  few  steps  in  advance  of 
the  young  traveller,  and,  with  a  manner 
half-supplicating,  half-threatening,  asked  an 
alms.  Susanna  was  startled  by  her  unex- 
pected presence,  and  her  surprise  partook 
largely  of  alarm  when  she  had  glanced  at 
her  forbidding  features.  In  the  lonely  place 
in  which  she  was,  it  was  by  no  means  desir- 
able to  meet  such  a  person.  Of  her  small 
store  she  knew  she  had  little  to  spare,  but 
her  eagerness  to  get  rid  of  the  applicant 
was  infinitely  stronger  than  was  her  desire 
to  retain  unbroken  the  funds  she  had  thought 
proper  to  take  with  her  to  meet  the  necessi- 
ties of  her  journey.  Therefore  she  took  her 
purse  from  oft'  her  girdle,  and  untied  its 
strings,  intending  to  give  the  woman  a  pen- 
ny, at  the  least.  The  avarice  of  the  beggar 
was  awakened  at  the  sight  of  the  few  couis 
it  contained,  and  a  powerful  longing  began 
to  show  itself  in  her,  to  have  it  by  hook  or 
by  crook  ;  so  she  cast  a  furtive  glance  to- 
wards the  town,  then  along  the  road,  then 
on  both  sides  of  her,  jabbering  the  whilst  a 
rambling  jumble  -oi  wants  and  thanksgiv- 
ings, when  she  suddenly  made  a  snatch  at 
the  purse,  but  not  before  Susanna  was  aware 
of  her  design,  and  drew  it  so  quickly  back, 
she  completely  failed  in  her  purpose. 

Thereupon,  with  divers  horrible  impreca- 
tions, the  strange  woman  drew,  from  a  bag 
that  hungsn  spended  before  her,  a  long  knife, 
and  rushed  forward,  calling  on  her  to  deliver 
her  money,  or  she  would  have  her  heart's 


blood.  At  any  other  time,  Susanna  would 
have  been  content  enough  to  have  escaped 
the  peril  she  was  in,  by  parting  with  a  much 
larger  sum  ;  but  the  sole  thought  she  had  at 
that  fearful  moment  was  the  impossibility 
of  her  ever  reaching  her  sick  father's  dwel- 
ling, were  she  deprived  of  it,  and  therefore 
she  was  not  content  to  part  with  it.  She 
avoided  tiie  woman  as  she  made  up  to  her, 
and  the  next  moment  took  to  running  at  the 
very  top  of  her  speed. 

The  young  traveller  was  light  of  foot,  and 
fear  seemed  at  first  to  have  given  her  wings, 
but  on  turning  her  head  round,  and  finding 
she  was  hotly  pursued,  her  heart  seemed  to 
jump  to  her  mouth,  and  she  felt  almost  in- 
capable of  exertion.  She  screamed  as  long 
and  loudly  as  she  could,  hoping  it  might 
bring  some  one  to  her  assistance,  and 
strained  every  nerve  to  increase  the  dis- 
tance that  was  betwixt  herself  and  her  pur- 
suer ;  but  the  latter,  though  not  so  light  of 
step,  and,  moreover,  burthened  with  the 
child  at  her  back,  was  more  used  to  a  fleet 
pace  than  the  other,  and  soon  began  with 
long  strides  to  gain  sensibly  upon  her.  Su- 
sanna ran  wildly  on,  half-dead  with  fright, 
and  screaming  at  the  very  top  of  her  voice, 
and  the  woman  followed,  shouting  such 
bloodthirsty  resoUitions  as  were  like  to  turn 
the  current  of  her  veins  into  ice. 

Thus  they  proceeded  to  a  distance  of  full 
a  quarter  of  a  mile.  At  last  Susanna  found 
she  had  neither  breath  nor  strength  to  con- 
tinue the  race  a  minute  longer.  Her 
motions  and  aspect  were  those  of  one  frantic 
with  excess  of  terror,  and  her  cries  were 
awful  and  heart-rending.  The  threats  of 
her  savage  enemy,  who  tracked  her  heels 
like  a  blood-hound,  became  every  instant 
closer  to  her  ear,  and  every  step  looked  as 
though  it  brought  the  murderous  knife  she 
had  menaced  her  with  nearer  to  her  heart. 
She  began  to  reel  ;ind  .stumble  as  she  ran, 
her  strength  was  fast  failing  her,  every 
thing  seemed  to  swim  unsteadily  before  her, 
and  at  last,  with  a  piercing  scream  of  agony, 
she  fell  to  the  ground. 

At  this  terrible  moment,  when  a  violent 
and  dreadful  end  was  so  imminent,  one  feel- 
ing of  regret  took  entire  possession  of  her. 
Of  losing  her  young  life  thus  early  and  thus 
horribly  she  thought  but  little  ;  the  feeling 
that  was  almost  insupportable  arose  from 
despair  of  being  able  to  show  her  beloved 
parent  that  she  was  not  so  vilely  unmindful 
of  him  as  he  had  been  led  to  suppose.  Her 
pursuer  came  up  with  every  bad  passion 
written  in  legiblest  character  on  her  gloomy 
brow.  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  her 
intentions,  and  the  little  imp  at  her  back 


114 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


seemed  to  clmclde  with  unnatural  doliglit, 
as  she  hastened,  with  tit-rce  curses  and 
I)loody  tiireats,  to  wreak  licr  vengeance  for 
llie  opposition  she  had  met,  and  then  satisfy 
her  dishonest  purposes  at  lier  leisure. 

The  fair  young  traveller  had  no  mercy 
to  expect.  Her  hours,  nay,  her  minutes, 
seemed  numbered,  and  drawing  to  a  speedy 
close.  The  murderess  seized  her  savagely 
by  the  arm  with  one  hand,  as  she  knelt  upon 
hor  panting  body.  Susanna  niurmured  a 
short  j)rayor.  Tiie  upraised  steel  glittered 
before  iier  eyes,  and  was  descending  with  a 
force  tiiat  must  have  buried  it  to  the  very 
haft  in  her  flesh,  when  the  arm  that  directed 
the  blow  was  suddenly  grasped  from  behind, 
and  witii  a  swing,  that  a  person  of  prodi- 
gious strength  only  could  have  given,  the 
woman  was  hurled  I'rorn  her  destined  victim 
to  a  considerable  distance.  With  such  force 
was  this  done,  tiiat  the  knife  was  sent  flying 
through  the  air,  and  the  child  was  cast  out 
of  his  resting-place  and  safely  transferred  to 
a  clump  of  fern  several  yards  off;  neverthe- 
less, as  though  in  some  measure  used  to 
treatment  of  the  roughest  sort,  he  raised  no 
outcry,  but  presently  employed  himself,  as 
well  as  he  was  able,  in  delivering  himself 
out  of  the  mass  of  leaves  in  whicii  he  had 
been  thrown. 

The  person  who  had  thus  timely  inter- 
rupted the  beggar-woman's  murderous  de- 
sign was  a  man  of  mean  and  slovenly  appa- 
jel,  with  a  visage  bearing  no  slight  preten- 
sions to  manly  beauty,  tliough  having  on  it 
a  wild  and  desperate  expression.  His  figure 
denoted  luiusual  strength  and  activity,  bat 
his  whole  appearance  was  in  no  manner 
likely  to  predispose  any  one  very  greatly  in 
his  tavor.  He  mtist  have  leaped  out  from 
one  of  the  hollows,  or  sprung  from  behind  a 
neighboring  clump  of  brambles,  where  pos- 
sibly he  might  have  been  lying  his  length, 
for  his  intervention  was  so  sudden  as  to 
make  it  doubtful  he  had  been  brought  to  the 
fair  traveller's  assistance  from  any  great 
distance.  His  interference  was  at  the  very 
nick  of  time,  and  appeared  to  be  as  effec- 
tual as  any  one  could  have  desired  ;  the 
vile  wretch,  wlio  had  been  so  intent  on  her 
deadly  purpose,  now  l;iy  her  length  on  the 
hard  road,  apparently  stunned  by  the  fall. 

Of  this  the  man  took  no  further  notice, 
than  some  words,  perchance  a  tierce  male- 
diction ;  the  language  in  which  they  were 
spoke,  sounded  uncouth  and  strange,  so  that 
their  exact  meaning  could  not  be  come  at. 
It  was,  out  of  all  doubt,  the  common  tongue 
of  the  gipsies,  and  on  close  observation  it 
was  as  evident  that  the  speaker,  though 
greatly  changed  for  the  worrie  in  his  visage 


and  outward  appearance,  was  no  other  than 
that  villanous  murderer  whom  the  reader 
hath  already  some  knowledge  of  by  the 
name  of  Black  Sampson. 

Since  he  had  behaved  so  roughly  to 
Simon  Stockfish,  in  his  memorable  journey 
to  London  with  his  young  master,  he  had 
lived  a  terrible  restless  life.  Pursued  by  an 
avenging  hand,  that  seemed,  to  his  fancy  arm- 
ed with  a  deadly  weapon  that  was  ever  within 
an  inch  of  his  heart,  he  had  wandered  from 
one  extremity  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other, 
in  the  vain  hope  of  security.  It  was  singular 
that,  though  of  a  more  fearless  spirit  than  all 
the  wild  tribe  of  which  he  was  the  acknow- 
ledged chief,  either  by  some  superstitious 
feeling,  or  the  weight  of  a  wicked  con- 
science, he  never  could  hear  the  name  of 
the  man  whose  dear  and  only  son  he  had  so 
ruthlessly  slain,  without  being  seized  with  a 
sudden  panic,  and  to  know  that  he  had  been 
seen  in  his  neighborhood  was  sufficient  to 
cause  him  to  flee  from  the  place  as  though 
pursued  by  the  legions  ot  the  damned. 

This  occurred  frequently.  He  would  re- 
tire to  the  wild  fastnesses  of  Wales,  and  for 
a  time  fancy  he  was  safe  from  further  pur- 
suit ;  but  at  last  he  got  certain  intelligence 
from  his  scouts  that  a  gaunt,  grey-bearded 
churl  was  lurking  about  his  retreat,  and  off 
he  would  be  as  secretly  and  expeditiously 
as  possible  to  the  weald  of  Kent,  where,  in 
some  apparently  impenetrable  wood,  he 
would  hide  himself  and  his  dusky  band. 
Ere  he  grew  confident  of  security,  he  would 
learn  that  the  same  terrible  form  had  appear- 
ed within  some  few  miles  of  him,  which  was 
quite  sufficient  to  make  him  abandon,  with 
all  speed,  his  late  secure  position  ;  and  per- 
chance he  would  seek  some  lonely  moor  or 
solitary  common  in  Devon.  Here  he  would 
remain,  but  only  for  a  brief  season.  He  got 
good  reason  for  knowing  the  untiring  blood- 
hound was  upon  his  track,  and  away  lie 
started,  like  a  hunted  deer,  to  the  deep  cavea 
on  the  rough  coast  of  Cornwall. 

Mayhap  he  would  abide  here  in  peace — 
in  such  peace  as  the  wicked  know,  whereof 
he  knew  about  the  least  of  any  ;  but,  when 
he  thought  from  all  absence  of  rumor  touch- 
ing his  enemy,  he  might  rest  secure  in  his 
deep  concealment,  he  was  ^ure  to  learn  that 
one  answering  but  too  truly  to  his  descrip- 
tion had  arrived  at  the  next  village,  and  at 
once  he  would  quit  the  place  which  hereto- 
fore looked  as  though  it  might  have  defied 
the  very  searchingest  eye,  and  never  rest 
foot  till  he  liad  buried  himself  in  one  of  the 
most  remote  and  savngest  parts  in  the  high- 
lands of  Scotland.  Here  even  he  met  with 
the  same  fortune.     The  old  shepherd  dog- 


THE   SECRET  PASSION. 


115 


ged  his  heels  with  a  pertinacity  that  was 
truly  marvellous.  Go  where  he  would, 
hide  as  closely  as  he  might,  use  the  cun- 
ningest  disguise,  sooner  or  later  Wattle 
Elliott  was  certain  to  get  so  close  to  his 
neighborhood,  as  to  induce  him  to  quit  it 
with  all  speed,  and  in  the  terriblest  fear. 

Although  Black  Sampson  avoided  a  per- 
sonal encounter  with  his  pursuer,  this  was 
by  no  means  the  case  with  divers  of  his 
trusty  followers.  They  felt  no  compunctions 
or  dread  of  any  sort ;  and,  soeing  the 
straits  in  which  tiiey  were  put  by  their  chief 
through  his  sudden  and  desperate  changes, 
as  well  as  being  made  sufferers  by  the  wild- 
ness  and  unreasonableness  of  his  humor, 
were  well  inclined  to  put  an  end  to  it  in  the 
only  way  which  presented  itself  to  them. 
With  this  object  they  banded  together,  and 
lay  in  wait  for  the  old  man.  But  for  a  long 
time  he  avoided  falling  into  their  hands.  He 
seemed  as  cunning  in  escaping  their  toils 
as  he  was  in  following  up  the  tierce  chase 
he  was  pursuing.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not 
succeed  at  all  times.  Though  ho  made  the 
most  determined  resistance,  which  cost 
some  of  his  assailants  their  lives,  he  was  at 
last  overpowered,  beat  with  sticks,  and  left 
for  dead. 

This  result  achieved,  all  felt  sure  their 
leader  would  speedily  recover  his  wonted 
greatness  of  soul.  They  assured  him  his 
enemy  had  got  his  quietus,  and  related  how 
completely  it  had  been  done.  A  month  or 
two  might  pass  over,  and  hearing  no  sign  of 
him,  Black  Sampson  would  relax  somewhat 
in  his  precautions,  when,  lo  !  to  his  horror, 
he  would  himself,  when  abroad,  catch  a  dis- 
tant view  of  his  well  remembered  figure  ; 
and  off  the  outlaw  would  start  on  the  instant, 
like  a  heron  who  spycth  the  hawk  afar  off. 
Again  the  gray-haired  shepherd  would  be 
set  upon,  and,  alter  a  furious  contest — not 
without  much  injury  to  many  of  the  assail- 
ants— he  would  sink  at  their  feet  pierced 
with  innumerable  deadly  wounds.  Again 
the  terror-struck  gipsy  would  be  persuaded 
he  had  nothing  to  fear,  and  again,  after  a 
due  interval,  he  would  tind  the  slaughtered 
man,  as  hale  and  vigorous  as  ever,  close 
upon  his  footsteps. 

At  last,  the  wildest  of  the  band  began  to 
be  as  fear-struck  as  their  cliief.  Tlie  old 
shepherd  had  been  shot  at  by  all  their  best 
marksmen  ;  he  had  been  stabbed  in  the 
vitalest  parts  ;  he  had  been  beaten,  as  it  were, 
to  death  with  heavy  cudgels ;  nevertheless,  he 
was  certain  to  appear  in  their  siglit  in 
some  brief  space  as  whole  as  though  nothing 
had  happened  to  him — it  looked  as  though 


he  bore  a  charmed  life,  or  was  a  creature 
not  of  this  world.  So  deep  did  this  impres- 
sion enter  their  minds,  that  they  forebore 
ever  after  from  molesting  him  in  any  way, 
and  were  as  ready  to  be  a  hundred  miles 
from  him  at  all  times  as  was  Black  Samp- 
son himself,  who  felt  a  secret  assurance 
that  his  enemy  had  so  unconquerable  a  spirit, 
he  could  not  or  would  not  be  allowed  to  die 
till  his  just  revenge  upon  the  murderer  of 
his  son  had  been  fully  satistied  ;  and  this 
haunted  him  so  by  night  and  by  day  with 
such  continual  apprehension,  that  lie  grew 
to  wear  the  altered  appearance  he  possessed 
at  this  date. 

After  so  forcibly  separating  the  woman, 
who  was  one  of  his  own  tribe,  from  her 
threatened  victim,  he  raised  the  latter  gently 
from  the  ground,  and  seemed  to  marvel  at 
her  sinirular  beauty.  Susanna,  tliough  in 
a  horrible  fear,  and  with  scarce  strengtli  to 
breathe,  she  was  so  spent  with  running, 
still  lield  possession  of  her  senses,  albeit  it 
was  with  but  a  slight  thread.  Siie  under- 
stood she  had  been  saved  from  a  frightful 
death,  but,  on  the  hrst  glance  she  got  of  her 
deliverer,  she  seemed  to  liave  little  cause 
for  satisfaction — so  dreadful  a  visage  to 
look  on  had  she  never  seen  before.  It  was 
so  unnaturally  wild  and  terrible,  she  shud- 
dered as  she  gazed  upon  it ;  nevertheless, 
she  made  no  effort  to  remove  herself  from 
his  hold,  but  lay  helpless  on  his  arm,  as 
though  she  could  not  take  away  her  eyes 
from  the  unnatural,  searching  gaze  that  was 
li.xed  upon  her. 

What  feelings  the  contemplation  of  such 
comeliness,  united  to  so  much  helplessness 
and  innocency,  might  have  created  in  the 
breast  of  this  caitiff,  cannot  very  clearly  be 
known  ;  but,  of  whatever  sort  they  may  have 
been,  it  is  out  of  all  manner  of  doubt  they 
were  righ^  summarily  put  an  end  to,  for,  on 
his  quick  ear  detecting  the  sound  of  distant 
footsteps,  he  presently  turned  his  gaze  in 
that  direction,  and,  on  the  instant,  with  a 
marvellous  lack  of  ceremony,  dropped  his 
gentle  burthen  to  the  ground,  and,  with  a 
cry  of  alarm,  ran  off  at  the  very  top  of  his 
speed.  It  was  soon  manifest  what  had  been 
the  cause  of  this  sudden  movement.  A  man 
was  seen  passing  over  the  common  with 
marvellous  quickness  of  foot ;  and  as  he 
drew  nearer,  it  was  observed  he  was  of  a 
gaunt  figure,  ill  and  rudely  clad,  with  a 
tierce  and  haggard  expression  of  counte- 
nance. On  he  came — in  sooth  an  awful 
sight — his  grey  hair  and  beard  of  unnatural 
length,  streaming  in  the  wind ;  his  eyes 
sunken  under  shaggy  overhanging  brows. 


116 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


yet  gleaming  with  an  unnatural  fire,  and 
one  hand  branditiliing  tlircatoningly  an  open 
dagger. 

As  he  passed  swiftly  by  our  gentle  tra- 
veller, she  could  not  believe  he  was  any 
thing  human  ;  and  the  unearthly  maimer  in 
which  she  heard  him  raise,  as  he  hurried 
on,  his  ordinary  cry  of  "  Blodd  !  Blood  !'' 
seemed  enough  to  turn  her  to  stone.  It  was 
the.  old  shepherd  in  pursuit  of  the  murderer 
of  his  dear  son.  On  he  sped  with  an  eager- 
ness far  beyond  what  his  more  youthful  days 
had  witnessed;  and,  holding  the  murderer 
in  sight,  he  kept  at  his  heels  over  bush  and 
hollow,  hedge  and  ditch,  till  both  were  lost 
to  sight  in  the  depths  of  a  neighboring  wood. 

Susanna  had  just  began  to  breathe  with 
a  little  more  freedom  than  she  had  done  for 
some  minutes  past,  wlien  she  was  again 
overwhelmed  with  deadly  fear  by  the  sight 
of  the  woman  from  whose  murderous  hand 
she  had  so  lately  been  rescued  again 
making  towards  her.  Doubtless  she  could 
now  have  wreaked  her  vengeance  uninter- 
rupted, and  have  plundered  her  at  her  lei- 
sure, and  such  it  is  more  than  probable  was 
her  intent ;  but  at  this  critical  time,  a  com- 
pany of  carriers  from  the  fair  made  their 
appearance  at  a  little  distance,  and  she  was 
fain  to  content  herself  with  breathing  the 
horriblest  threats  ever  heard,  as  she  reco- 
vered her  weapon,  and  then  replacing  her 
child  at  her  back,  who  had  been  all  the 
while  playing  about  as  though  he  required 
no  better  nursing  than  had  Romulus  and 
Remus,  she  took  herself  quickly  off  in  a 
contrary  direction. 

The  carriers,  who  were  simple  men,  mar- 
velled greatly  at  the  tale  they  heard  when 
they  came  up  ;  and  when  the  fair  traveller 
appealed  to  them  for  protection,  so  eager 
were  they  to  render  it,  they  were  ready  to 
go  to  loggerheads  before  they  could  settle 
who  should  be  the  fortunate  man  to  guard 
so  much  beauty  and  innocency.  At  last 
the  matter  was  settled  in  some  sort  satis- 
factorily, and  Susanna  was  raised  on  a  pack- 
saddle  on  a  fine  mule  that  belonged  to  one 
of  the  party,  all  agreeing  that  she  should 
ride  upon  it,  because  it  was  the  goodliest 
beast  of  them  all,  and  set  off,  nothing  loath, 
in  their  company. 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  sudden  change 
that  appeared,  as  soon  as  Susanna  took  her 
place  in  the  midst  of  them.  They  had  ap- 
proached in  very  boisterous  style,  with  an 
abundance  of  rude  jests,  and  prodigal  display 
of  riotous  mirth,  consequent  doubtless  on 
the  long  draughts  they  had  taken  in  fellow- 
Ghip  at  the  last  town  ;  but  now,  as  though  by 
common  consent,  each  one  put  a  bridle  on 


his  tongue,  so  that  there  should  be  no  of- 
fence in  it,  and  essayed  to  distinguish  him- 
self above  his  fellows  by  courtesy,  serious- 
ness, and  all  manner  of  civil  speech,  where- 
of the  consequence  was,  our  late  terror- 
struck  traveller  quickly  recovered  her 
proper  spirits,  and  journeyed  on,  with  no 
other  wish  than  for  increased  speed,  that  she 
unght  the  sooner  reach  the  lodging  of  her 
dear  father  in  Southwark. 

No  further  adventure  happened  till  they 
arrived  at  Oxford,  wherein  she  had  scarce 
entered  when  a  number  of  Oxford  scholars, 
struck  at  first  by  the  strangeness  of  so  fair 
a  creature  riding  in  the  midst  of  a  parcel 
of  rude  carriers,  were  for  a  closer  acquaint- 
ance, and  in  their  admiration  becoming  too 
familiar,  to  the  great  scandal  of  divers  of 
her  si.'uple  company,  one  must  needs  break 
the  head  of  the  foremost,  which  was  so  re- 
sented by  his  associates,  that  a  fierce  attack 
was  made  upon  the  offender  and  all  his  fel- 
lows. These  defended  themselves  with 
such  spirit,  emboldened  by  the  presence  of 
their  gentle  fellow-traveller,  in  whose  de- 
fence they  considered  they  were  fighting, 
that  soon  a  most  violent  battle  raged  be- 
twixt them.  The  scholars  every  moment 
were  reinforced  ;  nevertheless,  the  carriers 
with  their  cudgels  fought  so  desperately, 
macy  of  their  numerous  assailants  got  sore 
hurt. 

Susanna  sat  on  her  mule,  wringing  hei 
hands,  begging  and  praying  each  party  to 
leave  off  tlieir  quarrel ;  but  the  greater  part 
of  the  scholars,  who  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
beginning  of  the  affray,  believed  that  she 
was  held  against  her  will  by  the  knaves  in 
whose  company  she  was,  and  that  her  dis- 
tress was  occasioned  by  her  detention,  felt 
a  chivalrous  desire  to  rescue  her  from  out 
of  the  hands  of  such  Philistines,  and  they 
returned  to  the  charge  again  and  again  with 
increased  numbers  and  tenfold  fury.  The 
street  was  a  scene  of  the  wildest  riot  seen 
there  for  many  a  day.  All  were  attracted 
to  the  neighborhood,  alarmed  by  the  horrible 
outcries  and  fierce  contention  that  raged  in 
that  spot,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case  in  dis- 
turbances in  that  fair  city,  they  took  differ- 
ent sides.  The  citizens,  satisfied  that  where 
the  scholars  were  fighting  it  must  be  against 
them,  without  question  of  any  sort  ranged 
themselves  on  the  opposite  side,  and  with 
whatever  weapons  they  could  get,  gave  bat- 
tle furiously  by  the  side  of  the  carriers. 

In  this  way  every  instant  the  fight  was 
increasing  with  such  vast  strides,  that  it 
looked  as  though  two  rival  armies  were  con- 
tending for  mastery.  The  more  peaceable 
sort  were  in  a  monstrous  fright,  and  the  au- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


117 


thorlties  were  getting  ready  as  strong  a 
force  of  constables,  as  they  had  at  their 
commandment  for  the  immediate  quelling  of 
the  riot,  and  securing  the  disturbers  of  the 
peace.  By  this  time  the  scholars  had  grown 
to  so  huge  a  force,  that  they  had  been  able 
to  beat  back  her  doughty  champions  and 
tlieir  now  numerous  adherents,  and  were  in 
triumph  leading  away  in  the  midst  of  them 
the  unoffending  cause  of  the  battle  they 
considered  they  had  so  gloriously  won. 
Their  shouts  of  victory  and  martial  songs 
drowned  every  attempt  the  poor  distressed 
damsel  made  to  show  them  how  little  reason 
she  had  to  be  content  with  their  services. 
None  knew  what  was  to  be  done  with  her, 
and  none  troubled  themselves  lo  think,  their 
minds  were  so  tilled  with  their  hard-fought 
success. 

As  they  crowded  along  in  this  state,  they 
were  made  aware  of  the  approach  of  the 
strong  force  of  foot  sent  by  the  civil  autho- 
rities against  them,  among  whom  were  se- 
veral of  the  principal  persons  in  the  Uni- 
versity on  horseback  ;  but,  in  their  present 
mood,  there  is  little  doubt  the  victorious 
scholars  would  have  given  tliem  instant 
battle.  It  so  chanced,  however,  that  the  de- 
lectable young  creature  they  felt  assured 
they  had  rescued  from  unmannerly  kn  ives, 
spied,  amongst  the  horsemen,  two  gallants, 
whose  persons  she  recognized  with  a  vehe- 
ment cry  of  pleasure.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  as  to  who  they  were.  They  were 
Sir  George  Carew  and  young  Master  Clop- 
ton,  then  journeying  to  London,  who  from 
curiosity  had  joined  the  civil  power,  to  be- 
hold the  quelling  of  the  violent  disturbance 
that  had  so  unaccountably  sprung  up  in  the 
city.  By  singular  good  fortune  tiicy  imme- 
diately recognized  her.  which  was  in  some 
sort  easy,  she  being  on  her  mule,  above  the 
heads  of  the  riotous  assembly  whicli  sur- 
rounded her. 

Seeing  her,  like  one  in  the  very  absolutest 
distress,  as  if  calling  and  making  signs  to 
them  to  come  to  her.  Sir  George  and  his 
companion  marvelling  to  behold  her  in  so 
strange  a  company,  put  spurs  to  their  horses, 
and  dashed  forward  ;  but  they  would  have 
been  roughly  handled,  had  not  the  old  sol- 
dier had  the  exceeding  good  policy  to  cry 
out  that  the  young  female  they  had  got 
amongst  them  was  his  fellow-traveller,  and 
he  desired  she  might  be  allowed  to  return 
to  her  friends.  Many  knowing  Sir  George, 
made  way  for  him,  and  others  did  the  same, 
seeing  he  was  a  person  of  note  by  his  wor- 
shipful tigure,  and  the  number  of  his  retain- 
ers, with  their  blue  coats  and  silver  badges, 


so  that  the  two  found  no  difficulty  in  making 
their  way  to  the  distressed  damsel. 

Sir  George  appeared  to  have  forgot  his 
late  cause  of  displeasure,  as  he  rode  to  her 
side  with  the  courteous  bearing  towards 
women  so  familiar  to  him  ;  but  when  he 
listened  to  her  hurried  narrative,  and  dis- 
covered that  she  had  gone  through  such 
troubles  and  dangers  out  of  her  anxious  de- 
sire to  minister  to  the  wants  of  her  sick 
father,  his  very  estimable  good  friend,  he 
seemed  to  regard  her  with  unusual  interest, 
interrupting  her  with  many  soldier-like  com- 
mendations, and  bidding  her  to  be  of  good 
heartj  for  he  was  her  assured  friend  till 
death,  and  she  should  travel  in  his  company 
without  delay  of  any  sort. 

Then,  turning  to  the  crowd,  in  a  brief  and 
energetic  speech,  he  showed  them  the  mis- 
take they  had  been  under,  and  begged  them 
as  a  proper  token  of  respect  for  the  fair 
damsel  for  whom  they  had  so  manfully  ex- 
erted themselves,  to  dis])erse  each  to  their 
homes  as  speedily  as  possible.  This  proper 
advice  was  instantly  acted  upon,  and  in  a 
brief  space  all  were  making  what  haste  they 
could  to  their  several  colleges;  perchance, 
some  using  the  more  expedition  from  a 
wholesome  fear  of  punislunent.  Sir  George 
did  not  find  much  more  difficulty  in  satisfy- 
ing the  authorities  and  tlie  citizens,  and  he 
allowed  but  little  time  to  pass  over  before 
he  sought  out  the  trusty  carriers,  to  reward 
them  for  their  exceeding  commendable  con- 
duct. 

In  due  time  he  set  off,  with  the  fair  Susan- 
na, on  a  goodly  palfrey,  in  his  company,  for 
London,  and  they  arrived  the  next  day,  with- 
out further  adventure,  at  Master  Shaks- 
peare's  lodgings  in  the  Liberty  of  the  Clink. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  honey  shower  rains  from  her  lips. 

Sweet  lights  shine  in  her  face  ; 
She  hath  the  blush  of  virgin  mind. 
The  mind  of  viper's  race. 
These  things  we  write  merrily,  but  we  would 
that  the  reader  should  observe  God's  just  judg- 
ments, and    how  that   he  can   deprehend  the 
worldly-wise  in  their  own  wisdom,  make  their 
table   to    be  a  snare    to  trap  their   own    feet, 
and  their  own  purposed  strength  to  be  their  own 
destruction.  John  Knox. 

From  what  hath  already  been  stated,  mine 
especial  friend,  the  reader,  hath  good  war- 
rant for  suspecting  that  our  young  student 


118 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


of  medicine  was  not  in  such  good  hands  in 
the  dwelHng  of  that  famoiK«  physician,  Mas- 
ter Dr.  Posset,  as  his  excellent  mother  trust- 
ed he  was,  and  that  the  abundance  of  admi- 
rablo  coiui.sel  she  had  so  impressively  given 
him,  toncliing  his  behavior  to  women,  liad 
not  been  altogether  superHuoiis.  But  what- 
ever little  insiglit  there  may  have  been 
obtained  by  the  progress  of  this  story,  as  to 
the  characters  ot  the  several  inmates  of  the 
doctor's  liouse,  it  is  essential  for  its  full  un- 
derstanding that  something  more  should  be 
known.  With  the  object  of  furnishing  such 
information,  the  reader  is  urgently  requested 
to  allow  hiuiself  to  be  transported  to  a  cer- 
tain closet,  in  which  the  doctor,  after  the 
labors  of  the  day  were  over,  was  wont  to 
solace  himself  in  private  with  a  few  glasses 
of  slierris-sack,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  new 
fashion  of  smoking  a  pipe  of  tobacco. 

This  closet  was  lighted  by  one  small 
window,  and  was  wainscoted  ail  round  from 
ceiling  to  tioor,  with  projecting  cupboards 
at  the  corners,  in  whicli,  under  lock  and  key, 
were  kept  the  napery,  and  other  household 
siutf,  of  which  he  was  possessed.  Inhere 
was  an  oak  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
on  which  were  placed  the  customary  tank- 
ard, and  two  glasses,  with  a  small  brass- 
bound  box>  wiierein  was  kept  the  Indian 
weed  with  which  he  furnished  his  pipe. 
Doctor  Posset  sat,  leaning  against  a  high- 
backed  chair,  his  legs  resting  upon  a  tall 
stool  ;  he  was  dressed  with  a  formal  sort  of 
neatness — a  compromise  between  the  plain- 
ness generally  ait'ected  by  the  old  and  the 
bravery  of  the  young  physician  of  his  day. 
His  hajr  and  beard,  though  scant  and  grey, 
were  kept  in  excellent  order  by  the  barber  ; 
and  though  his  years  were  far  past  the  best, 
there  was  a  piercing  quickness  in  his  eye 
that  made  him  seem  more  youthful  than  he 
was.  As  he  had  lost  all  his  teeth,  his  mouth 
was  drawn  in  with  monstrous  little  improve- 
ment to  his  wrinkled  and  leaden  visage  ;  and 
when  he  took  on  himself  the  humor  ol  laugh- 
ing, he  looked  like  one  of  those  grinning 
satyrs  sometimes  to  be  found  carved  on  the 
stalls  of  our  ancient  cathedrals. 

It  would  be  no  ditficult  matter  for  any  skill- 
ful peruser  of  faces  to  have  guessed,  after  a 
careful  observation  of  that  of  this  famous 
physician,  in  his  private  hours,  the  sort  of 
character  he  was.  There  was  a  mixture  of 
craftiness  and  self-conceit  in  the  continual 
expression  of  his  visage  that  occasionally 
made  way  for  a  sort  of  sneering  devilishnoss 
that  became  it  no  better.  Of  this  craftiness 
he  prided  liimself  extravagantly,  althcugh  it 
was  merely  just  sufficient  to  keep  his  neck 
out  of  a  halter,  and    his  jierson   from  the 


rough  handling,  as  it  liad  been  w]iispered,he 
had  too  frequently  deserved.  Obsequious- 
ness, impndency,  and  some  chances  of  for- 
tune, had  greatly  be'riended  him.  To  those 
more  ignorant  than  himself,  he  ever  assumed 
a  marvellous  extent  of  knowledge,  whilst, 
to  any  likely  to  be  better  informed,  he  cau- 
tiously held  his  peace,  and  looked  as  pro- 
foundly sage  as  he  could. 

On  the  side  opposite  to  that  on  which  lie 
sat  stood  an  empty  chair,  and  the  doctor 
seemed  by  his  frequent  glance  at  the  door 
to  expect  some  person  to  till  it.  Nor  had  he 
long  to  wait.  Presently  the  door  opened, 
and  there  entered  the  seductive  Millicent, 
apparently  in  the  best  of  humors,  or  assuming 
such  for  some  secret  purpose.  She  soon  sat 
herself  down,  and,  as  was  her  wont,  proceeded 
to  fulfil  her  first  duty — the  making  of  the 
sack;  the  which  she  did  with  a  constant 
affectation  of  light-hearted  gossiping.  Had 
her  too-devoted  lover,  John  Hall,  been 
present,  he  would  have  marvelled  hugely  to 
have  heard  his  melancholy  mistress  making 
a  most  bitter  mockery  of  the  grief  of  Tabitha 
Thatchpole,  her  especial  friend — as  she  had 
led  him  to  believe — because  her  boy  Launce 
had  given  his  indentures  a  fair  pair  of  heels, 
and  run  away  with  Martin  Poins,  as  it  was 
supposed,  to  try  their  fortunes  on  board  an 
armed  ship  that  had  sailed  down  the  river, 
bound  for  the  Spanish  main;  and  he  had 
marvelled  still  more  to  note  the  exceeding 
heartiness  of  her  good  will  towards  her 
father,  of  whom  she  never  spoke  to  him  in 
confidence,  without  conveying  to  his  mind 
the  idea  that  he  was  a  monster  to  be  regard- 
ed only  with  execration. 

Her  merry,  biting  jests,  and  the  excellence 
of  the  sack  she  had  brewed  with  even  more 
care  than  usual,  had  their  expected  efl'ect. 
The  old  man  was  in  the  mood  she  desired. 
Sitting  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  own 
glass  of  the  exquisite  beverage  she  had  been 
manufacturing,  she  gradually  and  skilfully 
led  the  conversation  of  her  companion's  most 
favorite  subject,  the  success  he  had  had  as 
a  gallant. 

The  old  fellow  threw  liimself  back  in  his 
seat,  his  satyr-like  visage  growing  more 
hideous  as  the  expression  of  vanity  which 
lighted  it  with  smiles  became  more  intense. 
He  smoked  on  and  chuckled,  occasionally 
interrujiting  his  associate  to  add  more  im- 
portant features  to  the  things  she  reminded 
him  of  with  such  singular  satisfaction. 
Then  she  eluded  him  slightly,  and  seemed 
to  think  it  was  high  tirue  he  should  give  over 
such  unbecoming  matters,  take  to  himself  a 
wife,  and  live  in  matrimonial  respectability 
for  the  rest  of  his  days. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


119 


He  fell  into  this  humor  very  readily,  as 
he  had  long  entertained  the  desire  of  having 
for  his  wife  his  daughter's  little  friend, 
Mildred  ;  but  began  to  despair  of  its  accom- 
plishment, as  she,  besides  being  young 
enough  to  be  his  grand-daughter,  did  nought 
but  make  sport  of  him.  The  wily  MiUicent 
knew  this  well,  and  had  determined  to  turn 
it  to  her  own  profit.  It  matters  little  what 
was  said  on  both  sides  ;  suffice  it  that  a 
bargain  was  entered  into  betwixt  the  two, 
that  the  father  was  to  pay  to  the  daughter 
the  sum  of  two  hundred  crowns  as  a  mar- 
riage-portion with  her  betrothed,  on  the  day 
Mildred  became  his  wife. 

She  stayed  not  long  after  this,  excusing 
herself  that  she  had  much  to  do  to  bring 
matters  to  the  conclusion  desired,  and  there- 
upon left  him  to  enjoy  his  customary  after- 
noon's sleep  which  followed  upon  his  stuffing 
lus  skin  so  full  it  could  hold  no  more. 

Truly  she  had  much  to  do.  To  effect  the 
infamous  sale  she  had  set  on  foot,  there  was 
no  small  difficulty.  There  was  first  to  be 
got  over  a  strong  feeling  of  dislike  in  her 
friend  to  the  old  man,  considering  him  only 
as  an  acquaintance,  which  doubtless  would 
amount  to  abhorrence,  if  he  were  to  be  pro- 
posed to  her  as  a  husband.  The  disparity 
of  age  was  not  greater  than  the  disparity  of 
disposition.  Even  could  that  natural  feeling- 
be  removed  which  disinclines  the  youthful 
tasting  the  hrst  rich  draught  of  life  to  par- 
take of  the  cup  of  another  which  hath  nothing- 
left  of  it  but  the  lees,  the  opposition  of 
'thoughts  and  feelings,  pursuits,  habits,  and 
tastes  is  hardly  possible  to  be  overcoare. 
Doubtless  there  are  some  to  be  met  with, 
among  womankind  in  general,  who  are  pos- 
sessed of  that  singular  indifTerency  which 
renders  them  insensible  of  any  preference, 
and  there  can  be  no  question  divers  aged 
persons  may  be  found  more  worthy  the  en- 
■  tire  love  of  the  young  heart  than  others  of 
fewer  years,  but  these  are  extreme  cases. 

In  the  instance  here  given,  nothing  could 
be  more  atrocious  ;  but  the  utter  selhshness 
of  the  crafty  Millicent  took  no  note  of  any 
thing  but  her  own  base  ends.  She  sold  her 
youthful  acquaintance,  and  cared  for  nothing 
in  the  wide  world  save  the  price  slie  was  to 
obtain  for  the  infamous  bargain. 

There  was  one  thing  in  the  aspect  of 
affairs,  which  she  could  not  regard  without 
uneasiness.  For  objects  of  her  own,  she  had 
done  all  she  could  to  foster  the  growth  of 
friendly  feelings  betwixt  her  betrothed  and 
her  new  lover ;  this  had  led  to  a  more  than 
ordinary  affectionate  intimacy  in  the  young 
men  for  each  other  ;  but  now,  as  she  found 
it  more  to  her  interest  to  wed  the  former,  it 


was  requisite  that  she  should  put  herself  to 
particular  pains  to  lessen  this  attachment. 
It  might,  in  spite  of  all  her  care  to  prevent 
it,  lead  to  so  profound  a  confidence,  that  her 
double-dealing  and  infamous  views  regard- 
ing both  would  surely  be  discovered. 

There  was  still  a  great  obstacle,  and  this 
was  no  other  than  the  much-abused  John 
Hall.  His  love  for  the  worthless  creature 
by  whom  he  had  been  so  played  upon  had, 
by  this  time,  become  the  better  impulse  of 
his  hfe.  The  frequent  recourse  she  had  to 
mystery  he  had  got  so  used  to,  that  however 
strange  the  matter  might  seem,  he  put  it 
down  to  her  humor,  and  gave  himself  no 
further  concern  in  it. 

VVe  will,  however,  with  the  reader's  con- 
sent, penetrate  into  anotiier  part  of  the  same 
tenement.  This  was  the  chamber  in  which 
were  made  all  the  surgical  and  pharmaceu- 
tical preparations  wanted  for  Master  Doctor 
Posset's  numerous  patients.  There  were  in 
it  the  usual  objects  that  make  the  vulgar 
marvel  when  entering  such  places,  to  wit — • 
the  stuffed  crocodile  hanging  from  the  ceil- 
ing, a  multitude  of  bottles  and  jars  and  galli- 
pots of  sundry  sorts,  with  strange  characters 
marked  upon  them,  a  shelf  of  monstrosities 
preserved  in  spirits,  sundry  bundles  of  sim- 
ples hung  up  to  dry,  a  nest  of  drawers  with 
Latin  names  no  each,  a  strong  table  with 
vials,  measures,  weights,  scales,  knives, 
scissors,  pestles  and  mortars,  and  the  like 
necessary  things,  for  the  use  of  a  chirurgeon ; 
and  a  large  iron  mortar,  fixed  on  a  huge 
block  of  wood,  with  a  famous  ponderous  pes- 
tle of  the  same  metal,  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  same  chamber. 

At  the  further  end,  opposite  to  a  window, 
was  a  stout  chair  for  patients  to  sit  in  when 
undergoing  any  operations.  Close  to  it  was 
another  table,  containing  basons  and  other 
vessels  for  making  infusions,  decoctions,  and 
syrups  ;  with  tape,  plaster,  bandages  and 
ointment-pots,  for  the  dressing  of  wounds. 
On  one  side  was  a  chimney,  where,  on  the 
tire,  in  an  open  earthen  pipkin,  some  pre- 
paration was  simmering,  intended  as  a  re- 
storative for  a  sick  courtier,  which  was  care- 
fully watched  by  John  Hall,  who,  ever  and 
anon,  stirred  it  carefully  with  a  ladle. 
Leonard  was  engaged  at  the  large  table, 
with  an  open  book  before  him,  weighing  and 
mixing  together  certain  powders,  and  then 
dividing  them  into  small  papers,  for  the  bar- 
ren wife  of  a  gouty  alderman.  They  were 
intent  upon  a  discussion  connected  with  the 
art  they  were  studying,  when  they  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  a  gentleman 
borne  like  unto  a  dead  person  in  the  arms 
of  Ned  Allen  and  Will  Kempe,  whilst  a 


120 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


crowd  of  players,  among  whom  was  Ben 
Jonson,  followed  at  their  heels,  with  concern 
and  alarm  depicted  in  all  their  coiintoiiaiices. 
Even  the  humorous  visage  of  Will  Kempe 
had  a  cast  of  melancholy  that  might  even 
have  become  one  at  a  funeral. 

The  party  were  shown  into  an  adjoining 
chamber,  used  only  by  the  Doctor  for  private 
consultations  with  his  patients,  and  the 
person  they  had  brought  placed  convenient 
on  a  table.  He  gave  no  sign  of  life,  which 
tlie  players  did  not  fail  to  notice  with  an 
increased  length  of  visage.  The  physician 
was  hastily  sent  for,  and  all  things  were  got 
ready  handy  for  his  using — plasters,  band- 
ages, and  the  like,  with  certain  surgical- 
looking  knives  and  probing  instruments,  in 
case  an  operation  should  be  required.  The 
poor  players  scarcely  breathed,  they  seemed 
so  frightened  at  this  array,  assured  that  the 
danger  must  be  imminent  that  called  for  such 
ominous-looking  things,  and  whispered  to 
one  another  brief  sentences  signiticatory  of 
the  badness  of  the  case. 

At  last  JMaster  Doctor  came,  not  in  the 
best  humor  that  his  sleep  should  be  disturb- 
ed. Either  by  accident  or  design,  a  towel 
had  been  thrown  over  the  face  of  his  patient, 
so  that  he  was  not  recognized  by  the  Doctor. 
The  latter  asking  what  had  happened,  he 
was  told  that  the  poor  gentleman  who  was 
there  in  so  pitiable  a  case,  had  given  some 
offence  to  Ben  Jonson,  which  he  could  not 
stomach ;  so,  making  him  draw,  he  attacked 
liim  furiously,  and,  it  was  believed,  had  killed 
him  outright,  for  he  presently  dropped  like 
a  stone  at  his  feet,  and  had  since  given  no 
sign  of  life,  save  one  or  two  most  piteous 
groans,  that  seemed  to  denote  the  utter  rend- 
ing of  his  soul  from  his  body. 

"  'Tis  a  sad  case,"  said  one. 

"  Indeed,  'tis  most  lamentable,"  added 
another. 

"  Sblood  I"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson,  greatly 
vexed,  "  am  I  also  to  have  this  poor  gentle- 
man's death  at  my  door  ?  I  had  rather  a 
hundred  pound  I  had  never  set  eyes  on  him." 

"  Thou  art  ever  of  too  hasty  a  spirit,  Ben," 
observed  Master  Allen,  "  and  I  doubt  not  it 
will  some  day  or  other  put  thine  own  life  in 
jeopardy  from  the  hands  of  the  law." 

"  I  fear  it  will  go  hard  with  Ben  at  As- 
size," said  another  of  the  players  gravely. 
"  The  dead  man's  friends  may  pursue  him 
with  such  rigor,  he  may  chance  to  find  him- 
self in  nigh  upon  as  bad  a  case  himself." 

"  I  fear  hugely  he  his  dead,"  said  the  first. 

"  Assuredly  there  is  no  room  to  doubt  it," 
replied  a  second. 

All  this  time  the  doctor,  assisted  by  his 
apprentices,  examined  the  body  of  the  wound- 


ed man  very  carefully  ;  but  he  lay  stiff  and 
motionless,  as  though  all  such  care  was 
superfluous. 

"  Alack,  poor  gentleman  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Allen. 

"Alack,  indeed!"  added  Will  Kempe. 

Now  the  doctor,  looking  somewhat  puz- 
zled, felt  the  pulse  of  the  dead  man — many 
there  present  thinking  such  as  unnecessary 
a  thing  as  could  be  ;  and  in  a  moment  pulled 
the  towel  off  his  face. 

"  Captain  Swashbuckler,  o'  my  life  !"  he 
cried  in  a  monstrous  surprise,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  his  well  known  visage  ;  then,  turn- 
ing to  the  company,  added,  "  Had  I  not  seen 
it  with  mine  own  eyes,  I  would  not  have 
believed  there  were  in  the  world  such  easy 
gulls  as  those  I  now  see  before  me.  Be 
assured,  my  masters,  that  the  valiant  Cap- 
tain hath  received  no  wound  of  any  sort,  and 
is  at  this  present  in  as  perfect  health  as  ever 
he  was  in  his  life." 

"  Why  the  cozening  rascal  !" 

"  Out  on  the  pitiful  knave  !" 

"  Get  thee  gone,  thou  intolerable  base 
trickster  !"  exclaimed  the  players. 

"  A  goodly  football,  my  masters  !"  cried 
Will  Kempe  ;  '•  and  i'  faith,  we'll  play  a  fine 
game."  Thereupon  the  poor  captain,  as  he 
tound  his  trick  discovered,  and  was  fur  get- 
ting out  of  the  place  as  fast  as  he  could,  as 
soon  as  he  was  on  his  legs,  was  sent  forward 
with  a  hearty  kick  by  the  last  speaker,  at 
which  he  turned  round  to  mark  who  did  it; 
but  had  scarce  done  so,  when  he  received 
a  like  favor  from  Ben  Jonson,  given  with  so 
fine  a  zeal  he  was  thrust  to  the  end  of  the 
chamber.  Nevertheless,  his  stay  there  was 
exceeding  brief ;  one  of  the  players  who  had 
recently  been  most  concerned  at  his  supposed 
death  propelled  him  from  it  forthwith,  after 
a  fashion  that  was  so  quickly  and  closely 
imitated,  that  he  was  soon  thrust  into  the 
street,  amid  the  jeers  and  laughter  of  those 
who  had  waited  outside  to  learn  whether  the 
wounded  man  was  past  cure. 

Whilst  the  players  were  vigorously  follow- 
ing their  game,  John  Hall  was  surprised  by 
the  appearance  of  Simon  Stockfish,  with 
whom,  after  one  or  two  of  their  marvellous 
brief  speeches  on  either  side  he  presently 
left  the  house. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


121 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

'    His  mirth  was  the  pure  spirit  of  various  wit, 

Yet  never  did  his  God  or  friends  forget ; 

And  when  deep  talli  and  wisdom  came  in  view, 
Retired  and  gave  to  them  their  due. 

For  the  rich  help  of  books  he  always  took, 
Though  his  own  searching  mind  before 
Was  so  with  notions  written  o'er, 

As  if  wise  nature  had  made  tliat  her  book. 

COWLET. 

The  tender-hearted  Susanna  had  now  the 
full  enjoyment  of  her  own  sweet  will.  She 
was  in  constant  and  most  loving  attendance 
upon  the  father,  whom  she  regarded  with  so 
V  dutiful  an  afTection,  to  show  which  she  had 
put  herself  to  a  difficult  and  perilous  jour- 
ney, on  foot  and  unattended  save  by  the 
courage  of  her  own  pure  heart ;  but  though 
she  had  escaped  the  knife  of  the  assassin, 
and  was  secure  from  the  insults  and  rude 
questioning  of  unmannerly  strangers,  she 
had  to  meet  with  treatment  of  a  far  more 
intolerable  sort. 

The  mind  of  her  sick  father  was  a  prey 
to  the  flmtasies  of  a  wild  delirium,  the  con- 
stant theme  of  which  was  the  in^jratitude 
of  his  daughters.  On  this  he  would  ever 
and  anon  dilate  very  movingly — in  especial 
dwelling  on  the  undutiful  behavior  of 
liis  favorite  Susanna,  after  so  touching  a 
fashion,  that  the  poor  damsel,  who  was  close 
at  hand,  feared  her  heart  would  break,  it  did 
touch  her  so  deeply.  Nevertheless,  she 
would  on  no  account  allow  her  feelings  to 
betray  her  ;  so,  keeping  up  a  high  heart, 
albeit  it  was  often  a  most  aching  one,  she 
busied  herself  in  ministering  night  and  day 
to  the  wants  of  him  who  spoke  of  her  so 
hardly. 

Sleep  took  she  none,  at  least  none  of  any 
account,  for  at  all  hours  she  was  to  be  found 
playing  the  faithful  nurse  with  such  admira- 
ble matchless  skill,  it  was  the  marvel  of  all 
who  beheld  it.  The  pillow  was  smoothed 
for  the  aching  head,  tiie  dampness  wiped 
from  the  burning  brow  ;  the  parched  mouth 
was  kept  moist  with  refreshing  drinks,  and 
the  burning  skin  bathed  with  cooling  lo- 
tions ;  the  various  medicines  were  adminis- 
tered to  the  patient  by  none  but  her  hand  ; 
the  little  matters  of  diet  she  herself  prepared 
and  placed  before  him  ;  every  comfort  that 
could  be  procured  for  one  in  his  hapless 
condition  she  obtained  for  him  ;  and  it  was 
her  musical  voice  that  sought  to  make  him, 
as  readily  as  might  bo,  follow  the  directions 
of  his  physician,  and  the  dictates  of  her 
tender  love.  The  words  she  spoke  soothed 
the  sick  man,  but  the  voice  he  did  not  recog- 


nize ;  he  appeared  to  understand  the  great 
comfort  of  her  careful  nursing,  but  the  once 
loved  form  passed  before  him  as  that  of  a 
stranger. 

This  was  a  sore  trial  to  her,  but  she  held 
up  bravely  ;  and  none  who  saw  the  untiring 
patience  and  sweetness  of  disposition  with 
which  she  fulfilled  her  office,  could  have 
guessed  how  piercingly  her  poor  heart  aclied 
the  while. 

Her  loving  attentions  were  well  seconded 
by  John  Hall,  whose  assistance  had  been 
hastily  sought,  with  the  fullest  conhdence  in 
its  superiority  over  that  of  all  other  doctors 
whatsoever,  by  his  father's  faithful  follower, 
Simon  Stockfish.  Together  had  they  watch- 
ed at  the  bedside  of  their  suffering  patient, 
seeking  to  take  immediate  advantage  of 
every  favorable  symptom — together  had  they 
administered  to  his  wants  and  provided  for 
his-  comforts.  Surely  had  no  man  in  the 
like  strait  such  great  heed  taken  of  him,  as 
had  Master  Shakspeare  in  this  sharp  sickness 
of  his.  The  young  physician  employed  all 
the  resources  of  his  art  to  conquer  it,  partly 
to  serve  his  humble  friend,  and  in  a  great 
measure  from  the  deep  interest  he  felt 
in  him  whom  he  was  attending.  He  soon 
learned  in  what  nearness  of  relation  his 
matchless  nurse  stood  to  him,  and  the  frantic 
declarations  of  the  poor  gentleman  did  inform 
him  sufficiently  of  how  matters  stood  betwixt 
them.  This,  as  may  be  supposed,  did  not 
in  any  way  lessen  his  respect,  or  check  his 
sympathy.  Indeed  its  effect  was  exactly 
the  reverse.  Simon  Stockfish  also  afforded 
such  service  to  his  sick  master  as  it  was  in 
his  power  to  perform,  and  did  it  with  an 
earnest  affection  and  reverence  which  could 
only  be  exceeded  by  the  more  ardent  love  of 
his  devoted  daughter.  These  three  in  their 
constant  attendance  followed  their  natural 
inclinations,  for  they  spoke  marvellous  little, 
but  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  found 
the  like  number  of  persons  who,  under  any 
circumstances  felt  one-half  as  much  as  they 
did. 

The  chamber  in  which  Master  Shakspeare 
lay  was  of  a  fair  size  and  height — as  indeed 
were  all  the  principal  ones  throughout  the 
house — one  of  the  best  in  all  Southwark,  it 
having  been,  at  no  distant  date,  the  mansion 
of  a  person  of  worship,  from  whom  Master 
Shakspeare  had  bought  it,  with  a  great  part 
of  its  chattels  and  household  gear.  All 
round  was  a  goodly  suit  of  tapestry  hang- 
ings, representing  certain  notable  scenes  and 
adventures  in  the  life  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, with  labels  issuing  from  the  mouths 
of  divers  of  the  chief  characters.     A  large 


122 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


window,  or  casement,  which  was  thrown 
open,  gave  a  refresiiing  view  of  the  green 
trees  of  the  adjoining  gardens,  whence  the 
pmall  birds  were  heard  twittering  histily 
their  cheerful  chorus.  Througii  an  open 
door,  a  view  was  got  of  part  of  the  next 
chamber,  up  to  the  window  w^liicli  over- 
looked the  street,  with  glimpses  of  its  quaint- 
ly-carved cupboard  ;  some  one  or  twa  tall 
chairs,  having  about  them  a  cittern,  a  rapier, 
and  a  hat  and  feather  ;  a  table  with  a  rich 
coverlet,  and  its  goodly  burthen  of  books, 
manuscripts,  writing  utensils,  and -other  fur- 
niture of  a  like  sort. 

On  each  side  of  the  bed's  head  was  a 
stout  arm-chair,  wherein  the  watchers  of  the 
sick  man  were  wont  to  keep  guard.  There 
was  a  small  table  at  a  convenient  distance 
from  the  casement,  covered  with  a  fair  cloth 
of  damask,  whereon  was  a  mirror  in  an 
ebony  frame,  with  an  antique  vase  of  fresh 
flowers  before  it,  which  were  prettily  imaged 
in  the  glass,  having  on  one  side  a  crystal 
bottle  daintily  figured  over,  and  a  large  gob-- 
let  of  a  like  material  and  fashion  on  the 
other,  containing  a  delectable  beverage  for 
the  patient's  own  drinking  ;  whilst  in  a 
china  plate  that  stood  betwixt  them,  in-front 
of  the  vase,  were  grapes  and  oranges, 
whereof  of  the  latter  one  was  sliced  ready 
for  his  eating.  In  a  corner  adjoining  were 
the  proper  utensils  for  washing,  and  nigh 
the  fireplace  was  a  table  of  polished  oak,  on 
which  were  sundry  bottles  and  vessels,  and 
all  conveniences  for  the  concocting  of  such 
articles  of  diet  and  drink  as  were  deemed 
necess-ary  for  him  ;  and  it  was  here  th-at  the 
neat-handed  Susanna  was  wont  to  prepare 
them. 

Elsewhere  were  other  chairs,  and  also 
other  necessary  furniture,  the  chief  of  which 
was  a  massive  oaken  press,  for  the  contain- 
ing of  linen  and  wardrobe.  The  bedstead 
was  handsomely  provided  with  all  proper 
matters  of  bedding,  most  conspicuous  of 
which  was  a  rich  counterpane,  such  as 
adorned  the  beds  of  the  wealthiest  sort  in 
those  days.  With  his  head  supported  by 
pillows,  the  occupant  of  this  chamber  was 
there  and  then  lying,  his  noble  visage  bear- 
ing evident  marks  of  the  ravages  of  sick- 
ness ;  but,  his  beard  and  hair  being  new- 
trinimed,  and  his  face  constantly  and  care- 
fully refreshed  with  the  necessary  ablutions, 
he  showed  no  signs  of  that  neglect  in  such 
things  which  others  less  lovingly  attended 
never  fail  to  exhibit. 

John  Hall  and  Simon  Stockfish  stood  on 
each  side  of  him,  regarding  their  charge 
with  a  vigilant  eye,  yet  even  with  more 


seriousness  than  ordinary,  for  he  was  in  one 
of  his  raving  moods,  and  it  behoved  them 
to  interpose  when  there  was  a  likelihood  of 
his  doing  himself  a  mischief.  And  where 
was  the  ever-watchful  and  loving  Susanna? 
In  honest  truth,  she  had  but  turned  her  head 
away  to  conceal  a  tear  that  came  unbidden 
to  her  eyes,  through  hearing  the  sharp  re- 
proaches which  her  fond,  distracted  father 
did  heap  on  her,  whereof  every  word  seemed 
armed  with  a  barb  that  pierced  and  tore  her 
sensitive  heart  to  an  agony  insupportable. 
She  considered  she  had  merited  it  all,  hard 
as  it  was  to  bear,  for  she  loved  her  father 
with  such  entireness,  she  could  not  believe 
him  capable,  even  in  his  distraction,  of  any 
unkind  behavior  to  her.  Therefore  was 
she  now  raising  a  look  to  Heaven  with  so 
strong  an  appeal  in  it,  it  could  have  been 
withstood  by  nothing  of  mortal  nature,  her 
beautiful  figure  supported  by  one  hand  lean- 
ing heavily  against  the  table,  striving  to  re- 
cover such  composure  of  mind  as  would 
allow  her  again  to  attend  diligently  to  the 
duties  of  her  office. 

But  her  brave  spirit  was  soon  to  have  it? 
fitting  recompense.  Her  loving  nursing  had 
j  in  time  its  jjroper  effect.  The  sick  man 
mended  apace  ;  and  be  sure  there  were  no 
pains  spared  to  hasten  his  recovery.  But 
greatly  as  she  rejf)iced — and  no  imagination 
can  do  justice  to  the  exceeding  exquisiteness 
of  her  feelings,  as  she  beheld  this  irtuch- 
desired  improvement — there  \yas  one  conse- 
quence attending  on  it  which  she  allowed 
with  infinite  reluctance — this  was  banish- 
ment from  the  sick  chamber. 

From  the  many  intolerable  speeches  she 
had  heard,  she  was  painfully  impressed  with 
the  opinion  that,  when  her  dear  father  should 
come  to  know  her,  it  might  perchance  make 
him  worse,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  bid  her 
begone  for  a  disobedient  daughter,  that  de- 
served not  the  pleasure  of  attending  upon 
him.  Therefore  she  kept  herself  in  the  next 
chamber  as  privily  as  possible,  albeit  she 
took  good  heed  to  have  constant  intelligence 
of  aught  relating  to  the  object  of  her  so 
much  love  that  could  be  told  her,  and  was 
as  busily  engaged  in  providing  tor  his  wants 
and  comforts  as  though  she  had  remained 
with  him. 

Whilst  Master  Shakspeare  remained  in 
this  deplorable  state,  and  even  from  the  first 
notice  of  it  that  was  bruited  abroad,  tli(M-e 
came  to  his  lodging  every  day  vast  numbers 
of  persons,  some  his  very  good  friends  and 
gossips,  and  others  known  unto  him  only  by 
the  fame  of  his  singular  great  worthiness, 
and  these  were  of  various  classes  and  con- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


123 


ditions,  from  the  humblest  3rawer  at  "  The 
Mitre,"  or  call-boy  at  "  The  Globe,"  with 
whom  his  pleasant  speech  and  liberal  hand 
made  him  ever  a  inonr^troiis  favorite,  to  the 
highest  noble  in  the  kingdom,  who  had  en- 
joyed many  a  well-spent  hour  in  taking  into 
his  mind  the  prodigal  store  of  deligiitful 
thouglits  and  images  he  had  furnished  in  the 
exercise  of  his  matchless  talents.  His 
brother  players,  all  tiie  principal  writers,  the 
most  notable  of  the  citizens,  and  the  most 
worthy  of  the  courtiers,  either  came  them- 
selves or  sent  continually  to  inquire  what 
hopes  were  had  of  him  ;  and  Simon  Stock- 
fish was,  out  of  sheer  necessity,  forced  to 
abandon  his  humor  of  taciturnity  somewhat, 
he  had  such  a  horrible  press  of  questions 
forced  upon  him. 

Of  those  who  were  most  anxious  in  their 
inquiries  and  most  frequent  in  their  visits 
were  Master  Edward  Allen  and  Sir  George 
Carevv.  Nothing  could  exceed  tiie  former's 
concern  at  the  pitiful  plight  to  which  his 
assured  friend  had  been  reduced  ;  and  he 
straightway  sent  his  excellent  partner  to 
afford  Susanna  such  advice  and  lielp  as  the 
exigency  of  the  case  needed ;  and  well  and 
kindly  did  she  fiiltil  his  wishes.  Sir  George 
was  no  less  deeply  interested  in  him,  and 
was  continually  bringing  or  sending  such 
things  for  his  use  as  he  thouiiht  might  ad- 
vance him  in  his  recovery.  To  the  marvel- 
lous sweet  satisfaction  of  all,  as  hath  been 
said,  his  worst  symptoms  left  him.  He  grew 
conscious  of  all  that  was  being  done,  and 
was  evidently  gaining  strength  rapidly. 
One  thing  was  in  especial  noticeable  at  this 
time — :that  he  carefully  avoided  all  manner 
of  allusion  to  his  family.  What  was  so  re- 
cently the  one  sole  theme  of  his  thoughts 
and  of  his  tongue,  was  now,  as  it  were, 
driven  from  botli — perchance  from  dread  its 
entertainment  might  induce  the  evil  conse- 
quences he  was  still  smarting  under. 

This  state  of  things  Sir  George  Carew 
liked  not  at  all,  as  it  made  a  difficulty  in 
what  he  was  waiting  to  venture  on,  on  the 
first  favorable  opportunity,  which  he  knew 
not  how  to  get  over.  Nevertheless,  the  mat- 
er he  had  undertaken  could  not  be  delayed  ; 
therefore,  when  the  sick  man  grew  suffi- 
ciently hale  to  converse  on  ordinary  topics, 
he  began,  though  not  w'ithout  some  misgiv- 
ing, to  come  to  the  point  with  him.  Master 
Sliakspeare  was  then  dressed  for  the  first 
time  since  his  sickness,  and  sitting  in  his 
chair,  leaning  against  a  cushion,  and  in- 
haling the  invigorating  breeze  that  came 
through  the  open  casement,  for  it  was  a  most 
balmy  day,  that  was  like  to  fill  his  mind 


with  all  manner  of  healthy  impressions. 
His  noble  features  still  bore  on  them  the 
marks  of  sickness,  but  the  old  expression 
of  infinite  good  humor  seemed  forcing  itself 
through  the  painful  gravity  so  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  them.  He  was  informing  his 
friend  of  all  that  he  remembered  of  his  re- 
cent sufferings,  and  entered  at  length,  and 
not  without  some  show  of  animation,  into 
certain  fantasies,  under  the  infiuence  of 
which  he  had  spoken  and  acted. 

"  But  what  I  can  by  no  means  satisfy  my- 
self of,"  said  he,  "  is  a  marvellous  powerful 
impression  my  disordered  senses  have  retain- 
ed, touching  a  fair  vision,  by  which  I  was 
constantly  visited  during  the  fiercest  stage 
of  my  malady." 

"  A  fair  vision  !  I  warrant  you  now  some 
black-eyed  wench,"  observed  Sir  George, 
merrily. 

"  To  the  best  of  my  memory,  her  eyes 
were  of  no  such  color,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare  ;  "  but  rather  of  the  deep  pure 
blue,  such  as  the  heavens  seem  made  of  in 
the  sunniest  weather.  Indeed,  she  seemed 
in  her  majestic  motions,  her  youthful  grace, 
and  most  seraphic  voice,  a  creature  of  the 
skies,  rather  than  of  the  earth." 

"  Prythee  say  no  more  of  her  by  way  of 
description.  Will,  for  my  mouth  waters  vil- 
lanously,"  said  his  friend,  in  his  usual  cheer- 
ful humor.  "  But,  what  was  her  errand  ? 
doubtless,  she  took  your  heart  into  her  keep- 
ing without  more  ado,  and  proclaimed  you 
to  be  her  sworn  servant." 

"  Her  errand  was  that  of  a  ministering 
angel,"  answered  the  other,  fervently.  "  She 
soothed  my  pains,  she  created  my  comforts ; 
her  delicate  hand  smoothed  my  pillow  ;  her 
loving  eyes  watched  my  rest.  All  that  I 
knew  of  ease,  or  comfort,  or  satisfaction  of 
any  sort,  seemed  to  come  at  her  command- 
ment, and  was  provided  by  her  care." 

"  A  golden  girl,  truly !"  exclaimed  Sir 
George,  right  heartily.  "  Had  she  ever  a 
sister  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  I  can- 
not think  there  can  be  two  of  such  a  sort. 
But  I  know  not  how  it  was — of  a  sudden  I 
missed  her.  1  felt  no  more  her  dainty  hand 
upon  my  fevered  brow  ;  I  heard  no  more  the 
gentle  rustling  of  her  dress,  or  tiie  scarce 
audible  sound  of  her  light  footsteps,  as  she 
glided  like  a  creature  of  air  about  my  cham- 
ber;  and  her  soft  voice,  every  tone  of  which 
was  the  delicatest  music,  I  listened  for  in 
vain.  In  brief,  the  deprivation  of  this  looked 
so  intolerable,  notwithstanding  I  was  con- 
scious of  greatly  amended  h'^alth,that  more 
than  once  I  felt  disposed  to  have  endured 


124 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


tho  full  fierceness  of  my  malady,  to  have 
enjoyed  again  the  wondrous  solace  I  found 
in  this  exquisite  vision." 

"  Saw  you  nothing  in  the  features  of  this 
matchless  creature,  familiar  to  you  ?"  in- 
quired Sir  George,  in  a  more  earnest  tone 
than  he  had  hitherto  used. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  They  in  no  way  reminded  you  of,  in  no 
long  time  since,  the  chief  object  of  your 
love  and  worship,  your  own  fair  daughter 
Susanna  ?"  asked  liis  companion  ;  whereat 
the  other  seemed  greatly  moved,  and  could 
not  for  some  lapse  of  time  answer  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  I  pray  you,  Sir  George,"  he  at  last  said, 
evidently  with  some  difficulty  of  utterance, 
"  out  of  the  especial  regard  you  have  had 
for  me  so  long,  never  more  to  mention  to  me 
that  unworthy  name." 

"  That  can  I  not  promise,  Master  Shak- 
speare," said  Sir  George,  gravely.  "  In 
sooth,  I  mu-^t  needs  have  your  serious  atten- 
tion to  much  in  which  that  name  is  nearly 
concerned." 

"  Torture  not  a  bruised  spirit !"  cried  his 
companion,  greatly  excited  ;  "  I  cannot  heed 
you.  I  am  in  no  way  capable  of  enduring 
any  allusion  to  one  by  whose  horrible  diso- 
bediency  and  ingratitude  I  have  been  so 
sorely  tried."' 

"  Hear  me  this  once,"  urged  his  friend. 
"  For  be  assured  I  have  that  to  tell  which  is 
worth  your  hearing."  Master  Shakspeare 
said  not  a  word,  but,  with  a  distracted  sort  of 
gesture,  seemed  to  say  he  would  have  none 
of  it.  "  You  have  spoken  of  disobediency 
and  ingratitude,"  continued  Sir  George. 
"  These  are  bitter  charges  to  make  against 
a  child.  Suppose,  now,  for  a  moment,  they 
should  be  without  any  manner  of  warrant. 
Suppose  that  the  very  child  thus  villanously 
accused  should,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of 
her  life,  and,  despite  all  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  such  an  undertaking,  as  soon  as  she 
got  knowledge  that  the  father  she  so  dearly 
loved — she  cared  not  to  suffer  a  thousand 
deaths  to  prove  it — was  sick  of  a  fever,  and 
like  to  die  in  a  city  several  days  journey 
from  her,  she  set  oft"  afoot,  and,  unattended, 
travelled  through  a  strange  country,  every 
step  of  which  was  attended  with  perils 
enough  to  daunt  the  most  courageous  of  her 
sex  ;  and,  after  enduring  and  triumphing 
over  all  with  unheard  of  constancy  and  pa- 
tience, made  her  way  to  his  .sick  room, 
where  night  and  day  she  fulfilled  the  tender 
office  of  nurse,  with  a  sweetness  of  dispo- 
sition and  entireness  of  devotion,  which 
made  all  marvel  to  see  her.  Suppose  now 
that  the  blessed  creature,  you  thought  was 


the  ofTspring  of  a  disordered  brain,  was  in 
truth  no  vision  at  all,  but  a  real  and  palpa- 
ble being,  gifted  with  all  the  noblest  graces 
of  womanhood,  who  did  keep  watch  and 
ward,  and  tended  over  you  like  a  minister- 
ing angel,  as  you  have  said,  and  suppose  this 
matchless  creature  of  such  infinite  perfec- 
tion was  no  other  than  the  much-abused 
Susanna — what  say  you  then  ?" 

Master  Shakspeare  had  listened  to  this 
strange  speech  with  increasing  interest,  till 
interest  grew  to  amazement,  and  amazement 
became  a  wild,  bewildering  phrenzy  of  ex- 
citement, that  could  keep  within  no  bounds. 
As  soon  as  he  could  find  speech,  he  ex- 
claimed, very  urgently,  "  Can  this  be  true  ?" 

"  Ay,  on  mine  honor  and  life,  is  it,  every 
word  !"  replied  the  other. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  Bring  her  to  me.  I 
pray  you  let  a  fond  father  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  holding  her  to  his  heart."  He  had 
scarce  said  the  words,  when  Susanna,  who 
had  previously  been  placed  in  the  adjoining 
chamber  in  readiness,  rushed  into  his  arms. 

Her  joy  was  not  loud,  but  nnfathomably 
deep.  She  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast, 
and  wept.  He  disturbed  her  not,  but  ever 
and  anon  seemed  to  draw  her  to  hini  with  a 
firmer  pressure,  as  if  to  assure  himself  she 
was  still  in  his  embrace.  All  this  while 
they  were  alone,  for  Sir  George  Carew  had 
suddenly  slipped  away  when  he  had  secured 
his  desired  end. 

With  the  happy  Susanna,  all  cares  and 
pains  were  now  in  as  perfect  an  oblivion  as 
though  they  had  never  existed.  She  felt 
herself  richly  rewarded  for  whatever  had 
been  thrust  upon  her,  which  seemed  hard  to 
bear,  and  would  readily  have  undertaken  a 
much  more  hazardous  enterprise  than  her 
long  terrible  journey,  to  have  secured  but 
half  the  priceless  satisfaction  that  she  now 
possessed.  She  was  assured  lier  dear  and 
honored  father  did  not  regard  her  as  one  un- 
mindful of  his  love  :  nay,  there  was  a  most 
flattering  conviction  she  had  that  share  in 
his  heart  she  had  so  long  coveted.  With 
such  impressions,  she  thought  no  evil  could 
touch  her — no  pain  annoy  her — neither  vex- 
ation, nor  sorrow,  nor  doubt,  nor  fear,  trouble 
her  under  any  circumstances. 

But  the  so  late  unhappy  father,  how  took 
he  the  gaining  of  this  incomparable  pleas- 
ing knowledge  ?  As  a  bird  escaping  an 
unwholesome  cage  to  the  grandsome  free- 
dom of  the  invigorating  air.  He  experi- 
enced feelings  to  which  he  had  long  been  a 
stranger,  and  his  breast  became  lightened 
of  a  most  weary  load.  He  made  his  fond 
and  dutiful  daughter  tell  over  and  over  again 
all  her  various  adventures,  from  the  com- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


125 


mencement  of  her  brave  journey  up  to  the 
j)resent  hour  ;  and  much  lie  marvelled,  and 
greatly  he  praised,  as  he  listened  to  her  sim- 
ple n  rrative. 

The  discovery  that  he  had  met  with  a 
heart  truly  devoted  to  him,  that  would,  with 
a  prodigality  ot"  affection  akin  to  liis  own, 
pay  him  back  his  love  with  an  interest  that 
smacked  largely  of  usury,  was  undoubtedly 
a  wouderfid  blessing  to  him.  Its  effect  on 
his  health  savored  of  a  miracle.  He  gain- 
ed strength  and  spirits  so  fast,  that  the  happy 
change  was  visible  to  the  dullest  eye  ;  and 
of  the  numbers  who  hailed  it  with  genuine 
pleasure,  it  was  evident  in  none  so  strongly 
as  in  the  doating  Susanna,  the  attentive 
John  Hall,  and  the  faithful  Simon  Stockfish. 
Of  the  two  latter,  the  young  physician  was 
looked  on  as  one,  for  his  absolute  painstaking, 
deserving  especial  gratitude,  and  this  be 
sure  was  shown  him  in  exceeding  liberal 
measure  ;  whilst  his  attached  follower,  from 
that  time,  was  regarded  by  him  as  certain  a 
h.\ture  in  his  household  as  the  most  stable 
thing  in  it. 

It  chanced,  however,  ere  he  was  scarce 
well  recovered  of  his  sickness,  that  he  had 
another  subject  presented  to  his  thoughts,  to 
whicli  they  seemed  to  cling  with  a  prodiuious 
powerful  hold,  and  this  was  caused  by  his 
receiving,  in  a  close  and  mysterious  manner, 
the  following  letter  : 

"  By  a  trusty  intelligencer,  I  heard  of 
your  lamentable  sickness,  and  have  since 
learned,  with  singular  satisfaction,  of  your 
assured  recovery.  This  I  am  desirous  of 
hastening  and  securing  as  much  as  possible, 
and  with  such  a  view  I  bid  you  prepare  to 
take  the  charge  on  yourself  already  men- 
tioned to  you.  W.  11.  is  a  youth  of  quick 
parts,  and  is  kindly  dispo,->ed  to  all  wliom  he 
believes  mean  well  towards  him  ;  yet  in  his 
disposition  so  unstable,  he  requires  constant 
directing  to  prevent  him  so'^n  S'"'?^'^'y  a-stray 
whenever  he  may  think  he  finds  proper  ex- 
ample for  it.  All  is  ordered  for  your  and 
his  sufficient  accommodation.  Methinks  I 
need  not  commend  him  to  you.  I  feel  well 
assured  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  me  in 
all  things  relating  to  him,  to  yourself,  and  to 
ine.  Make  then  what  despatch  you  can  in 
your  own  affairs,  so  as,  with  only  such 
slight  delay  as  cannot  bo  helped,  you  may 
be  able  to  "transport  yourself  to  where  the 
pure  bright  atmosphere  of  Italian  skies  is 
like  to  afford  you  the  health  and  strength 
most  urgently  desired  by  your  well-wishers  ; 
among  wliom  not  the  least  sincere,  let  there 
be  ranked, 

"  Your  fist  friend,  and  her  own  enemy." 


Master  Shakspeare  pondered  on  the  con- 
tents of  this  long  and  deeply.  It  stirred  a 
current  of  feeling,  which,  tliough  carefully 
hid  from  all  obervance,  was  the  strongest  in 
his  nature.  Powerful  as  it  was,  it  was 
wonderfully  sweet  and  delectable  ;  a  sort  of 
delicate  intoxication,  as  it  were,  that  ex- 
cited the  senses  into  a  wild,  ecstatic  delirium, 
that  tlirust  aside  all  common  matters  of  life 
as  unworthy  of  any  account.  That  he  most 
passionately,  and  with  a  wondrous  earnest- 
ness of  devotion,  loved  the  f  lir  writer  of  this 
letter,  there  can  be  no  denying ;  it  was 
scarce  in  the  ordinary  nature  of  things  that 
he  could  avoid  this,  considering  how  singu- 
larly choice  a  pattern  she  was  of  all  womanly 
excellence  ;  admirable  in  form,  and  more 
admirable  than  all  in  the  exquisite  worthi- 
ness of  her  heart ;  and  this  matchless  com- 
bination of  rare  qualities  had  regarded  the 
intellectual  graces  of  his  exalted  character 
under  circumstances  that  appealed  most 
irresistibly  to  her  sympathies,  and  had 
showed  her  appreciation  of  him  in  a  mai]ner 
too  flattering  not  to  touch  the  heart  of  one 
so  exceedingly  sensitive  of  kindly  offices. 

This  love,  be  it  remembered,  must  not  be 
classed  with  the  selfish  passion  which  usu- 
ally goeth  by  that  name.  Here,  in  both 
parties,  it  was  the  better  impulses  of  deep 
feeling,  exalted  by  the  constant  operation 
of  high  intellect.  It  was  an  adoration  or 
soul  worship,  wherein  the  moral  and  intel- 
ligent being  was  wondrous  powerfully  ope- 
rated upon  by  a  like  intensity  of  the  moral 
and  intellectual  quality  in  another.  I  will 
not  say  that  physical  beauty  had  no  hand  in 
it,  for  where  it  exists  it  cannot  help  but 
make  its  due  impression  on  the  nature  pre- 
pared to  receive  it ;  but  as  the  channel 
through  which  its  impressions  were  con- 
veyed was  completely  under  the  influence 
of  the  mind  and  heart,  each  acting  upon  the 
other,  it  standeth  to  reason  that  whatever 
was  physical  got  so  idealised  and  moral- 
ised in  its  course  as  to  be  regarded  only  in 
its  best  and  most  ennobling  aspect. 

Master  Shakspeare  loved  this  noble  lady 
then  after  the  same  fashion  that  singular 
choice  poet,  Petrarch,  loved  his  inestimable 
sweet  mistress,  the  Lady  Laura.  He  loved 
her,  as  it  is  familiarly  said,  with  all  his 
heart — and,  an  excellent  addition,  with  all 
his  mind  also.  There  is  no  manner  of  doubt 
this  was  a  marvellous  sum.  But  he  loved 
not  her  alone  ;  he  loved  whatever  belonged 
to  her  with  a  like  prodigal  extravagance, 
and  this  his  promised  intimacy  with  VV.  H. 
seemed  particularly  to  call  forth  his  loving 
feelings.     Nevertheless,  though  he  might 


126 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


indulge  in  private  to  what  extent  he  pleased 
in  this  lii.s  fond  devotion,  he  i<ne\v,  before 
the  public  eye,  he  must  be  intent  on  noth- 
ing so  much  as  showing  his  inditferency, 
and  therefore  he  sought  to  school  his  atTec- 
tions  with  a  severity  such  as  the  absolute- 
ness of  tiic  occasion  called  for. 

On  the  perusal  of  the  foregoing  communi- 
cation, his  thoughts  took  an  excursive  flight 
— rising  high  in  that  elevated  region  where 
whatever  is  pure  and  noble  is  readily  found, 
and  floating  long  among  the  crowd  of  great 
and  worthy  images  that  properly  belong  to 
it.  His  present  mood  was  one  admirably 
adapted  for  the  ready  creation  of  those 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  are  called  and 
considered  poetry ;  which,  with  one  whose 
whole  being  was  constituted  of  this  choice 
quality,  cannot  seem  singular :  thereupon 
he  suddenly  took  pen  in  hand,  and  presently 
wrote  down  the  following  succession  of 
verses. 

THE  LOVER  TURNED  MERCHANT- 


The  thriving  merchant,  moved  by  former  gains, 

Doth  readily  his  venturous  trade  increase. 
Taking  such  wondrous  pleasure  in  his  pains. 

As  thougb  his  good  fortune  was  ne'er  to 
cease. 
Day  after  day  doth  find  him  grosv  more  bold — 

He  sends  out  merchandise  of  ev'ry  sort, 
And  sees  his  ships,  heavy  with  silk  and  gold, 

Amber  and  gems,  float  proudly  into  port. 
He  adds,  he  doubles,  trebles  ev'ry  chance, 

And  doubled,  trebled,  every  chance  returns  ; 
At  last,  his  huge  wealth  hugely  to  enhance, 

He    ventures   all    his   store :     this    Fortune 
spurns, 
Scati"ring  it  to  the  winds  in  divers  ways. 
And  leaving  him  a  bankrupt  ail  his  days. 


I  fear  me  much  my  goods  I  do  embark 

In  trafiic  no  less  hazardous  and  blind. 
Albeit  though  pounds  at  least  for  ev'ry  mark 

I  in  my  ventures  rarely  fail  to  find. 
And  by  such  proiit  has-e  I  been  led  on 

To  make  my  chances  greater  than  before, 
Whilst  tears  that  held  me  back  at  first  are  gone. 

And  I  am  thrust  on  risking  more  and  more. 
Within  my  warehouse,  all  in  swelling  piles, 

My  stores  are  garnered,  making  a  fair  show  ; 
That  proveih  how  man  fares  when  Fortune 
smiles. 

And    what   vast   increase    her   adventurers 
know. 
Yet  am  I  not  content — a  sumless  gain 
Tempts  me  to  risk  the  heaps  which  there  re- 
main. 


At  first  I  sent  forth  but  an  humble  freight, 

Of  admiration  void  of  flatt'ring  gloss; 
And  in  the  venture  my  ambition's  height 
Was  but  to  be  secured  from  heavy  loss. 
When  proper  lime  elapsed,  my  ship  came  in 

With  a  fair  cargo  of  sincere  esteem, 
Which  so  well  paid  me,  I  was  moved  to  win 
More  large  returns  with  what  should  worthier 
seem. 
Straightway  I  fell  to  gathering  wliat  I  had 

Of  courteous  sentiment  and  gallant  speech. 
Then  put  them  forth,  and,  with  a  heart  right 
glad. 
Gained   kindly  thoughts  in  rich  return  for 
each. 
Next  on  my  gladdened  feelings  I  laid  hand, 
And  found,  well  pleased,  they  were  in  good  de- 
mand. 


My  traffic  flourished— and,  now  bolder  grown, 

I  ventured  on  a  precious  store  of  hope  ; 
The  which,  in  sooth,  I  ne'er  had  called  mine 
own. 

Had  not  my  ends  attained  so  wide  a  scope. 
I  scarce  was  sure  my  good  ship  held  her  course. 
When  I  had  notice  she  was  coming  back. 
So  richly  laden,  merchants  on  the  Bourse 

Might  deem  her  of  the  seas  the  Queen  Car- 
rack. 
Thus  bountifully  gifted,  an  invoice 

I  then  made  out — "  Item.  A  rare  supply 
Of  strong  affections,  very  pure  and  choice." 

Wherewith  my  ships  sailed  onward  gallantly. 
They  owned  when  next  they  to  their  anchorage 

drew, 
The  treasures  of  the  old  world  and  the  new  I 


Is  this  similitude  too  finely  drawn  ? 

Smacks  it  not  roundly  of  the  poet's  dream? 
Nay,  'tis  so  true,  I'd  put  my  heart  in  pawn, 

I've  done  scant  justice  to  the  worthy  theme. 
For  what,  in  honesty,  can  poor  words  do 

The  profit  I  have  lit  on  to  express? 
What  bravest  speech  sulficiently  make  true 

The  prodigal  source  which  gave  to  such  ex- 
cess ? 
Ah,  my  heart's  queen  !  but  little  reck  the  crowd 

'I'he  iieaped  abundance  of  all  goodly  things. 
Which  in  thy  matchless  nature  stands  avowed, 

Which  from  thy  bounteous  heart  uncounted 
springs ; 
E'en  the  blest  few  to  whom  thou   dost  come 

forth. 
Have  not  intelligence  of  half  thy  worth. 


I  speak  not  of  the  crisped  gold  that  waves 
Its  glorious  treasure  o'er  thy  noble  brow  ; 

Or  of  the  pearls  lodged  in  their  coral  caves, 
Whose  smiling  glimpses  glad  me  even  now; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


127 


Nor  speak  I  of  those  gems  of  sumless  price, 

Worthy  the  proudest  spot  in  Heav'n's  blue 
zone, 
That,  without  foil  or  other  artifice. 

Can  dim  the  lustre  of  the  rarest  stone. 
I  look  not  to  the  sun  that  untold  lies 

In  ev'ry  curve  of  thy  fair  arm  ami  hand  ; 
The  African  might  gaze  with  wild  surprise 

To  see  such  store  of  ivory  in  the  land — 
For  with  such  cosily  gifts  doth  Nature  grace 
Those  in  her  court  who  hold  the  highest  place. 


'Tis  not  of  outward  bravery  I  speak, — 

That  doth  not  enter  into  this  account  ; 
For  the  most  rounded  bust  or  rosy  cheek, 

Which  e'er  hath  made  the  eager  blood  to 
mount 
In  the  wrapt  lover's  veins,  must  in  its  time 

Be  turned  to  dust.     There  doth  exist 
A  beauty  boasting  a  perpetual  prime. 

That  the  Destroyer's  sythe  hath  ever  missed. 
Age  lays  no  wrinkle  on  its  fair  aspect, 

Its  sweet  complexion  ne'er  was  known  to 
fade, 
It  steals  no   grace  from  gauds  wherewith  'tis 
decked  ; 

From  canning  art  it  never  looks  for  aid. 
This  quality,  of  such  great  eminence. 
Hath  for  its  name  and  title  "  Excellence." 


Herein  we  find  a  wondrous  aggregate 

Of  every  gift  that  clothes  humanity  ; 
Where  noblest  hopes  and  kindest  wishes  wait 

Where  charitable  thoughts   are  standing  by. 
There   Virtue  prospers  —  there    in  worthiest 
guise. 

Honor  with  stately  mien  doth  glance  around  ; 
There  Pity  seeks  to  dry  her  tearful  eyes. 

And  Modesty  looks  blushing  to  the  ground  ; 
There  sits  Religion  with  a  brow  serene. 

And  calm-eyed  .Tustice  eloquently  grave, 
Whilst  meek  Obedience  so  rarely  seen. 

With  Temperance  a  quiet  nook  doth  crave. 
And  breathing  round  a  soul-entrancing  thrall. 
Love,  with  a  regal  power,  ennobles  all. 


Such  is  the  marvellous  goodness  of  her  heart ! 
But  of  her  mind — snatch  from    a   seraph's 
wing, 
A  quill,  and — fashioned  by  the  scholar's  art — 

Dip  it  in  truth's  most  delectable  spring : 
Where  should  we  find  a  tablet  large  enough 

To  hold  its  worthiness — save  Heav'n  itself? 
(Forced  though  I  be  to  put  it  in  the  rough, 
I'll  lodge   the    abstract   on  my  heart's  first 
shelf) 
There  Wit  on  honest  fellowship  is  bent. 

And  Learning  reaps  where  most  are  feign 
to  lease  ; 


There  Thought  is  great  with  child  of  Good 

Intent, 
Where  Wisdom,  the  grave  mid-wife,  takes 

her  ease. 
There  Judgment,  Fancy,  Taste,  and  Genius 

dwell. 
And  do  become  their  lodging  passing  well. 


In  traffic  like  the  merchant  Prince  of  ola, 

A  very  Crcesus  in  her  treasury, 
Hath  she  not  funds  to  pay  a  thousand  fold. 

For  whatsoever  I  would  have  her  buy  ? 
Ay,  with  such  gen'rous  spirit  doth  she  trade. 

It  seems  you  cannot  greatly  sink  your  store  ; 
And  with  the  wondrous  profit  I  have  made 

I  well  may  hope  to  better  me  siill  more. 
Like  a  successful  gambler  do  I  pause. 

Exulting  in  my  winnings.     "  On  !  still  on  ! 
Once  more  be  swayed   by  Fortune's  crooked 
laws. 

Great   gains  remain  —  all   comes  or  all  is 
gone  I" 
Shall  I  seek  ruin,  in  th'  increase  I  crave. 
Or  rest  me  now,  content  with  what  I  have  ? 


Down,  ye  insatiate  longings  !     Hence,  avaunt 

All  covetous  influences  !     In  vain 
With  eager  restless  impulses  ye  haunt 

The  secret  chambers  of  my  heart  and  brain  ! 
Have  I  not  gained  a  gracious  competence 

In  this  adventurous  barter  of  the  soul  i 
And  shall  I  do  my  worth  such  huge  offence. 

When  blessed  with  part,  to  hunger  for  the 
whole  ? 
Nay,  let  such  selfish  ends  be  thrust  aside. 
As  very  mire  that  muddles  the  pure  fount. 
We  have  sufficiently  the  traffic  tried — 

Let  us,  like  honest  merchants,  close  th'  ac- 
count ; 
And  should  there  be  a  balance  small  or  large. 
Let  each  to  the  other  grant  a  full  discharge. 


But  think  not,  bounteous  spirit,  I  withdraw 

From  thy  fond  dealings,  here  to  make  an  end: 
Conscience,  a  sworn  accountant,  learn'd  in  law, 

Is  in  this  matter  pleased  to  stand  my  friend : 
And  sheweth  me  a  way  where  without  ill 

I  can  my  grateful  feelings  cultivate  ; 
Whereof  to  take  advantage  is  my  will. 

And  shall  my  study  be,  early  and  late. 
Trust  me,  that  nei'her  damp,  decay,  nor  moth. 

Shall  ever  touch  my  precious  merchandize  ; 
Nor  shall  there  be  a  sign  of  ease,  or  sloth 

In  my  behavior  when  this  change  shall  rise, 
I  shall  have  constant  use  for  all  my  store. 
And  in  its  care  be  busier  than  before. 


Then  farewell,  honorablest  of  all  thy  kind, 
Epitome  of  Heav'n,  for  earth  to  grace  ! 


138 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Farewell,  thou  trusty  heart — thou  noble  mind, 

Thou  exquisite  in  nature  as  in  face  ! 
Farewell  the  bounteous  hand,  whose  princely 
aims, 

Were  not  more  fair  than  is  its  dazzling  hue  ; 
Farewell  the  seraph  tongue,  whose  music  claims 

More   soul-subduing    power    than   Orpheus 
knew. 
Oh,  what  a  sum  of  sweetest  womanhood 

Makes  the  grand  total  of  thy  worthiness  ! 
How  vast  a  heap  of  all  things  great  and  good 

Doth  in  thine  excellence  upon  me  press  ! 
Blessings,  and  happiness  too  great  to  tell. 
Be  ever  in  thy  path — Farewell !  Farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Such  is  her  beauty  as  no  arts 
Have  enriched  with  borrowed  grace  ; 
Her  high  binh  no  pride  imparts. 
For  she  blushes  in  her  place. 

Folly  boasts  a  glorious  blood — 

She  is  noblest,  being  good. 

Habington. 

Master  Shakspeare  liad  by  this  got  so 
far  towards  recovery  as  to  be  able  to  resume 
his  ordinarj' duties  and  employments;  and, 
being  busy  in  the  brinoing  out  of  the  new 
play  at  "  The  Globe,"  his  mind  liad  no  time 
to  dwell  upon  any  troublesom'^  matter  like 
to  disturb  his  peace.  He  iiad  many  very 
liberal  arrangements  for  the  comfort  of  those 
of  his  family  remaining  at  Sliottery,  the 
knowledge  whereof  doubtless  gave  him  great 
contentation ;  but  the  gentle  and  faithful 
Susanna  still  abode  with  him,  one  cause  of 
which  was,  that  he  had  grown  so  attached 
to  her,  he  delayed  parting  with  her  till  the 
last  moment ;  and  another  was,  he  knew  not 
for  the  best  how  to  dispose  of  her  during 
his  travels,  for  he  doubted  she  would  live  in 
any  sort  of  comfort  if  she  returned  to  the 
cottage,  and  he  was  undecided  where  else 
she  could  be  placed  with  satisfaction  to  her- 
self and  him. 

The  subject  of  the  new  play  he  had  taken 
from  Scottish  story,  in  compliment  to  the 
Scottish  king,  liis  own  sovereign ;  and  he 
was  earnest  to  have  it  brought  out  with  as 
little  delay  as  might  bo,  as  the  time  was  fiist 
approaching  when  he  was  to  leave  England, 
in  charge  of  one  of  whom  ho  could  never 
think  without  emotions  of  the  tenderest  sort. 
It  was  now  complete,  and  ready  i'or  the 
players ;  but,  before  he  gave  it  for  perform- 
ance, he  must  needs  try  if  it  wanted  not 
any  finishing  touches,  and  he  did  so  after 
this  fashion: — He   sat  in   his  chair   in   a 


thoughtful  attitude,  with  Susanna  over- 
against  him,  reading  aloud  from  his  MS. 
She,  pleased  to  besoemploycd,  went  tiirough 
her  task  very  lovingly,  and,  with  a  sweet, 
womanly  voice,  did  give  such  melody  to  the 
vigorous  lines,  that  the  author  felt  himself 
much  better  content  with  his  work  than  lie 
had  before  been,  and  greatly  did  he  marvel 
at  the  excellent  rare  judgment  and  taste  dis- 
played by  the  reader,  as  she  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  that  especial  masterpiece  of  the 
writer's  genius. 

Of  a  surety,  it  made  a  most  admirable, 
loving  picture  the  father  and  daughter  so 
employed,  set  off,  as  their  figures  were,  by 
their  brave  apparelling,  and  surrounded  by 
the  picturesque  furniture  of  the  chamber  in 
which  they  sat ;  and  the  understanding 
spectator,  had  he  seen,  could  not  have  failed 
to  have  noticed  how  much  the  pleased  ex- 
citement in  the  reader,  and  the  gratilied 
pride  in  the  listener,  did  add  to  the  expres- 
sion of  their  noble  countenances.  Susanna 
iiad  scarce  finished  her  task,  which,  in  se- 
cret she  thought  much  too  soon — an  opinion 
shared  by  her  delighted  parent — when  Sir 
George  Carew  entered,  and,  after  saluting 
the  blushing  Susanna,  with  an  air  a  much 
younger  gallant  might  have  envied,  and 
cordially  congratulating  his  friend  on  his 
greatly  improved  looks,  he  at  once  opened 
on  his  errand.  This  was  no  other  than  to 
inform  his  old  acquaintance  that  he  had 
been  appointed  atnbassador  to  the  court  of 
France — whereupon  he  received  congratu- 
lations no  less  hearty  than  awhile  since  he 
had  bestowed.  He  went  on  to  say  he  had 
a  project  in  his  mind,  which  not  only  him- 
self but  Lady  Carew  had  set  her  heart  on, 
that  JMaster  Shakspeare  could  alone  effec- 
tually help  him  to.  On  hearing  this,  the 
other  lost  no  time  in  assuring  him  his  poor 
services  were  ever  at  his  disposal,  and  that 
he  should  be  infinitely  glad  to  be  a  means 
for  securing  him  and  his  sweet  lady  their 
several  desires. 

On  this  assurance,  Sir  George  proceeded 
to  state  that  he  had  thought  very  much  of 
late  of  "  his  dear  mistress" — as  he  styled 
his  friend's  daughter — and  that  the  sorrow  of 
parting  with  one  he  afiected  so  deeply  was 
so  great  he  could  by  no  means  be  brought 
to  endure  it,  and  that  it  did  seem  an  especial 
hard  case  that  so  true  and  well-disposed  a 
servant  as  was  he  should  be  debarred  the 
exquisite  sweet  content  he  had  been  used 
to  find  in  his  dear  mi>tress"s  delectable  com- 
pany— indeed  it  was  altogether  intorerablc, 
and  not  to  be  borne — so  that,  after  much 
debate  on  the  matter  with  Lady  Carew,  it 
had  been  decided  that  the  latter  should  in- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


129 


vite  his  dear  mistress  to  accompany  her  to 
Paris,  where  it  was  earnestly  desired  she 
might  be  allowed  to  stay  under  her  honora- 
ble guardianship,  whilst  the  worthy  gentle- 
man, her  father,  proceeded  on  his  travels  till 
he  reached  Paris  on  his  return  home. 

During  this  sportive  speech,  which  want- 
ed no  grace  the  courtier  could  bestow  upon 
it,  was  in  coui-so  of  utterance,  Susanna 
turned  a  rosy  red,  and  her  eyes  did  flash 
very  prettily,  as  much  at  the  conceit  of  it, 
as  at  the  exceeding  pleasant  prospect  it 
opened ;  and  her  father  could  not  conceal 
the  extent  of  his  satisfaction — for  the  propo- 
sal was  what  he  had  never  dared  to  hope 
for — it  was  such  an  unlooked-for  lionor ; 
yet  nothing  could  have  come  so  seasonably, 
seeing  that  he  had  been  at  a  loss,  for  some 
time  past,  to  dispose  of  her  during  his  ab- 
sence fro;n  England.  Therefore,  with  a 
heart-felt  thankfulness  for  so  agreeable  a 
proof  of  his  consideration,  he  gladly  agreed 
to  such  a  disposition  of  his  faithful  Susan- 
na, and  soon  got  her  to  express  her  conten- 
tation  at  it,  tliough  she  did  so  witli  tiiat  dif- 
fidence tlie  nature  and  extent  of  the  obliga- 
tion could  not  fail  of  creating. 

After  this,  in  an  excellent,  pleasant  hu- 
mor, the  two  friends  fell  to  discussing  the 
state  of  the  Frencli  king,  Henry  the  Fourth's 
court,  and  Sir  Ge<jrge  promised  both  his 
companions  he  would  take  care  they  should 
both  have  a  proper  knowledge  of  it,  of  the 
gallant  Henri  Quutre,  of  the  stately  Marie 
de  Medicis,  of  the  grave  and  politic  Da  Ros- 
ni,  and  of  all  the  other  notable  characters 
there  to  be  found. 

"  But,"  said  he,  in  his  own  cheerful  hu- 
mor, "  'tis  of  another  Henry  you  must  now 
think  of  making  the  acquaintance,  who 
bids  fair  to  rival  the  French  king  in  all  his 
more  sterling  qualities.''  Then,  seeing  the 
other  looked  puzzled,  he  added,  "  I  speak  of 
our  promising  young  Prince  of  Wales,  than 
whom  a  more  honorable,  noble  nature  never 
breathed  in  tliis  world  ;  and  for  the  proper 
qualities  of  a  gentleman,  as  to  learning, 
carriage,  and  the  use  of  arms,  I  know  not 
where  to  find  his  peer.  In  some  discourse 
with  him  I  had  yesterday  at  Hampton  Court, 
where  he  is  staying,  he  chanced  to  make 
an  allusion  to  yourseli',  and,  being  of  a  mar- 
vellous inquiring  mind,  put  to  me  a  vast 
number  of  questions  concerning  you  and 
your  writings,  of  which  he  appearetb  to  have 
a  fair  knowledge.  I  answered  him  in  such 
sort,  acquainting  him  with  your  intended 
journey,  that  he  commanded  me  to  bring 
you  to  hmi  without  fail  this  morning  ;  there- 
fore you  must  e'en  surrender  yourself  at 
once,  and  away  with  you  to  Hampton  Court, 
9 


for  which  journey  I  have  taken  care  to  pro- 
vide horses  ready  for  our  riding." 

Master  Shakspeare  expressed  his  willin"'- 
noss  to  be  gone  on  the  instant ;  and,  after 
making  certain  arrangements  regarding  his 
new  play  the  necessity  of  its  speedy  perfor- 
mance required,  he  left  the  house,  accom- 
panied by  his  assured  friend,  but  not  till  the 
latter  had  nrade  many  gallant  speeches  to 
the  fair  Susanna,  with  a  devoteJness  wor- 
thy of  the  perfectest  example  of  knighthood 
in  the  most  chivalrous  times  ;  and  in  a  lit- 
tle while  they  were  both  riding  together  in 
the  direction  of  Hampton  Court,  followed  at 
a  respectful  distance  by  several  mounted 
serving-men  of  Sir  George  Carew's,  in 
their  coats  and  badges. 

"  I  hugely  mislike  the  complexion  of  this 
trial  of  my  right  noble  friend.  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare  in  a 
confiiential  tone.  "  I  am  assured  he  is 
much  too  wise  a  man  to  have  been  guilty 
of  the  practices  attributed  to  him,  and  his 
unworthy  associate  the  Lord  Cobham.  I 
have  heard  from  a  trusty  intelligencer  that 
Cecil  poisoned  the  king's  ear  against  him 
before  his  com.ing  to  the  throne,  out  of  jeal- 
ousy of  his  greater  virtues  and  talents; 
and,  having  completely  abused  the  king's 
mind,  so  that  he  coul  1  not  endure  the  sight 
of  him,  notwithstanding  his  surpassing  ex- 
cellency, both  as  a  soldier  and  a  scholar, 
more  securely  to  get  rid  of  him,  he  devised 
tills  incredible  charge  of  treason,  and  had 
iiim  sent  to  the  Tower,  where  he  now  is  a 
close  ])risoner." 

"  I  know  not  how  this  may  be,  Will," 
said  Sir  George,  somewhat  reservedly ; 
"  but  this  I  do  know,  that  if  any  of  Cecil's 
spies  be  abroad,  who  are  said  to  hear  every 
thing,  you  stand  an  exceeding  fair  chance 
of  sharing  his  imprisonment  for  what  yofl 
have  just  said ;  and,  indeed,  if  you  escape 
being  cast  ibr  a  traitor,  you  will  be  in  bet- 
ter fortune  than  many  others  in  a  like  con- 
dition." 

"  Doubtless,"  replied  his  friend.  "  Yet 
there  is  warrant  for  my  safety  that  I  am  not 
a  rival,  or  am  like  to  be  one.  In  sooth,  to 
teU  you  my  exact  sentiments,  I  like  not 
much  that  has  been  done  at  court  of  late." 

"  Neither  do  I,  Will,"  said  the  other,  in 
a  like  confidential  manner.  "  And  in  all 
honesty  I  have  sought  this  appointment, 
that  I  might  not  continually  see  what  I 
C-tnnot  but  disapprove." 

"  I  would  have  sworn  as  much,"  observed 
Master  Shakspeare  ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
asked  : — "  Holds  the  king  still  to  his  minion 
Carr  ?" 

"  Ay,  with  fonder  conceit  than  ever,"  an- 


130 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


swcred  lie.  "  This  eliallow  popinjay  not 
only  h;Uh  no  ono  merit  to  entitle  him  to  b; 
jToferrcd  over  the  heads  of  the  hravest  and 
Lest  that  seek  the  king's  scrvice,but  ho  hath 
M  marvellons  ill  reputation,  that  is  like  to 
dislionor  all  with  whom  ha  may  chance  to 
get  connected." 

"And  our  sweet  young  prince,  how  takes 
he  such  undue  preference  ?" 

"He  is  too  deeply  intent  upon  his  various 
studies  to  heed  greatly  what  is  going  on 
around  him  ;  nevertheless,  his  carelessness 
in  this  matter  is  not  like  to  do  him  any  sort 
of  service  where  it  sliould  be  most  ef- 
fective." 

"  How  so,  Sir  George  ?" 

"  Truly,  after  this  (ashion.  Will.  He  is 
already  gaining  to  him  the  general  voices, 
for  which  his  many  admirable  sweet  quali- 
ties are  sufficient  warrant,  and  not  without 
Bome  comparisons  in  no  way  pleasing  to  the 
principal  subject  of  tliem.  Now  a  displea- 
.sure  so  created  will  greedily  be  taken  ad- 
vantage of  by  those  who  feel  assured  they 
can  make  their  advantage  of  it,  and  I  fear 
me  much  he  will  hardly  escape  some  terri- 
ble mischief,  however  discreet  may  be  his 
carriage." 

"  Like  enough.  But  Heaven  preserve 
our  fair  young  prince  from  all  such  evils!" 

"  Amen,  with  all  my  heart,  Will  !" 

By  this  time  they  had  rode  so  far,  all  the 
beauties  of  the  country  were  fairly  display- 
ed before  them,  and  greatly  it  delighted  both 
travellers  to  see  the  farms  which  lay  on 
every  side,  with  here  and  there  a  windmill, 
a  group  of  hay  stacks,  and  a  goodly  man- 
sion, till  they  came  to  the  villages  on  their 
way.  They  beheld  much  which  excited 
their  observation  in  the  groups  they  passed, 
which  were  of  singular  variety,  from  per- 
sons of  the  highest  authority  and  worship, 
going  or  returning  from  the  court,  with  such 
speed  and  state  as  bespoke  the  greatness  of 
their  business,  to  those  of  the  humblest  call- 
ing, who  trudged  quietly  along,  with  a  per- 
fect indil!erency  of  all  their  prouder  way- 
farers evidently  held  in  such  huge  estima- 
tion ;  and  much  was  said  by  them  of  very 
excellent  purport ;  but,  when  they  had  reach- 
ed the  neighborhood  of  Hamilton,  and  saw 
spread  before  them,  as  in  a  picture, the  live- 
ly beauties  of  all  that  part  of  the  pleasant 
county  of  Surrey,  though  each  had  beheld 
them  scores  of  times  before,  they  frequently 
stopped  their  horses  the  better  to  admire 
them,  and  warm  were  the  commendations 
both  expressed. 

Nor  did  the  magnificence  of  the  building 
they  were  approaching  escape  without  a 
due  share  of  admiration,  and  before  they 


entered  its  walls  many  a  pleasant  anecdote 
and  many  an  interesting  history  had  been 
told  of  the  gay  doings  they  had  witnessed 
from  the  stately  days  of  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
to  a  date  much  nearer  their  own  experience. 
And  thus  it  was  Master  Shakspeare  made 
himself  so  singularly  well  liked  wherever 
he  went,  either  alTording  entertainment  from 
the  bounteous  stores  of  his  own  mind,  or 
eliciting  it  by  judicious  questioning  from 
such  as  could  dispense  it,  yet  lackecl  incli- 
nation, that  his  company  was  ever  eagerly 
sought  after  by  any  who  had  once  enjoyed 
the  opportunity  of  knowing  how  profitable 
it  was. 

In  the  courtyard  were  men  waiting  with 
horses,  dogs,  hawks,  statues,  pictures,  books, 
armor,  and  weapons,  and  divers  other  things, 
hoping  to  find  a  purchaser  in  their  liberal 
young  prince. 

After  giving  their  horses  to  the  grooms, 
they  advanced  into  the  house  together,  un- 
checked by  the  porters  and  guards  standing 
v/itli  their  halberts  about  the  entrance, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  see  none  had  admis- 
sion who  came  not  by  proper  authority,  for 
this  especial  reason — Sir  George  Carew, 
being  so  well  known  there,  any  gentleman 
in  his  company  would  be  sure  to  pass  im- 
questioned.  But,  on  their  reaching  the  re- 
ception-room. Sir  George  was  speedily  ac- 
costed by  one  of  the  grooms  of  the  chamber, 
who,  on  hearing  the  other's  errand,  cour- 
teously bade  him  wait  with  his  friend 
amongst  the  company,  with  which  the  place 
seemed  well  crowded,  whilst  he  went  to  ac- 
quaint the  Prince  of  Wales  of  his  coming. 

"  Surely,  that  is  my  Lady  Countess  of 
Essex  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shakspeare,  as 
they  stood  together,  where  they  could  have 
a  good  view  of  the  company. 

"My  Lady  Countess  that  was,  Will," 
whispered  his  friend.  "  She  hath  succeed- 
ed. Heaven  only  knoweth  by  what  arts,  in 
getting  a  divorce  from  her  husband,  on 
whom,  as  1  am  credibly  informed,  by  devil- 
ish practices,  she  hath  infamously  imposed 
ever  since  they  married." 

"  I  have  heard  the  like,"  answered  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  ;  "  in  especial  of  her  deal- 
ings for  charms  and  drugs,  by  the  help  of 
which  she  might  effect  her  horrible  purpose. 
Yet  to  look  at  her,  as  she  stands  there  so 
bravely  apparelled,  dealing  out  to  the  gal- 
lants around  lier  such  delectable  smiles,  one 
cannot  but  doubt  that  she  could  be  guilty 
of  such  thorough  infamousness.  She  hath 
an  angel's  shape." 

"  And  a  devil's  heart — if  ono  half  of  what 
is  bruited  abroad  be  true,"  added  Sir 
George. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


131 


«'  It  hath  been  confidently  said,"  observed 
his  companion,  "  yet  I  know  not  on  what 
grounds,  that  the  prince  is  enamored  of  lier, 
and  that  she  favors  liim." 

"  Tiiat  tlie  prince  hicetli  lier  passing  well 
I  have  seen  enougii  to  think  probable,  and 
that  she  is  disposed  to  return  tlie  liking  with 
unlawful  interest  I  cannot  doubt,  but  I  ques 
tion  there  is  such  attacimient  between  them 
as  is  like  to  be  lasting ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  his  Highness  hath  no  more  know- 
ledge of  her,  than  her  woman's  grace  and 
woman's  wit  hath  bestowed  upon  him  ;  and 
J  have  that  good  opinion  of  his  regard  for 
lionesty,  I  am  in  hopes,  when  he  discovers 
what  a  terrible  cockatrice  she  is,  he  will 
speedily  be  quit  of  her,  and  in  the  second 
place,  I  have  good  reason  for  believing  that 
she  hath  cast  her  eye  on  the  king's  favorite 
— nay,  I  have  been  assured  that  he  hath  got 
himself  made  Earl  of  Rochester  at  her  in- 
stigation, and  that  it  is  his  intention  to  mar- 
ry her  fortiiwith." 

"  It  is  at  least  a  marvellous  fit  and  proper 
match,"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  jestingly  ; 
"  never  were  two  peo])le  so  well  assorted. 
Their  tastes  are  so  equally  abominable  and 
abliorrent,  there  can  surely  be  no  falling 
out  betwixt  them ;  and  their  reputations  are 
so  wondrous  alike  in  baseness,  it  is  clean 
impossible  they  should  ever  lake  to  calling 
each  other  names." 

Sir  George  Carew  laughed  heartily  at 
this  conceit,  which  brought  to  them  a  cour- 
tier of  his  acquaintance,  who  would  needs 
know  the  cause  of  his  mirth  ;  which  the 
other,  not  being  willing  to  tell,  very  gravely 
laid  it  to  some  cause  so  trivial  and  ridicu- 
lous, a  child  would  scarce  have  taken  it  for 
a  jest;  nevertheless,  the  courtier  laughed 
famously,  and,  satisfied  he  had  been  told  an 
exceeding  g.iod  thing,  went,  to  the  infinite 
satisfaction  of  his  present  company,  to  re- 
peat it  to  divers  of  his  friends  there  present. 
Master  Shakspeare  and  his  companion,  af- 
ter this,  continued  their  remarks  on  certain 
of  the  persons  who  thronged  the  chamber, 
occasionally  interrupted  by  such  as  they  had 
knowledge  of,  who  were  not  disposed  to 
pass  them  without  a  courteous  recognition. 

The  company  was  of  a  mixed  sort :  gal- 
lant ladies,  each  ambitious  to  monopolise 
the  young  prince's  smiles — with  the  most 
powerful  of  the  great  nobles  of  the  state, 
anxious  to  testify  their  respect  to  the  heir 
to  the  throne  ;  divines  and  lawyers,  elbow- 
ing each  other  in  the  hope  of  gaining  the 
attention  of  their  prince  to  certain  ponder- 
ous tomes  of  their  inditing;  whilst  poets 
and  play  writers  trod  on  their  heels,  ready  to 
tear  each  other  to  pieces  to  be  first  in  get- 


ting his  Highness  to  accept  their  high-flown 
dedications  to  their  labored  trifies.  Then 
came  scores  of  commanders  and  captains,  no 
less  eager  of  the  prince's  countenance  of 
their  merit;  whilst  ingenious  mechanics 
same  with  their  inventions  and  contrivan- 
ces, that,  in  their  opinions  at  the  least,  were 
marvels,  such  as  the  world  had  never  seen 
before.  With  these  came  jockeys  to  brag 
of  their  horses  ;  virtuosos,  to  put  off  their  pic- 
tures and  statues  ;  musicians,  matchless  in 
the  practice  of  their  art  ;  possessors  of 
choice  dogs  and  hawks ;  armorers,  paint- 
ers, players,  famous  swordsmen,  and  gun- 
ners unrivalled  any  where  in  the  world. 

They  were  employed  in  this  way,  when 
a  stately  gentleman,  with  a  serious  aspect, 
yet  gracious  manner,  came  up  and  accosted 
Sir  George  Carew  with  a  friendliness  that 
showed  they  were  of  old  acquaintance,  af- 
ter which  the  latter  introduced  him  to  his 
friend  as  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner,  the  prince's 
chamberlain;  and  he  having  stated  that  he 
had  been  sent  by  his  Highness  to  bring 
Zvlaster  Shakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew 
to  him,  they  immediately  proceeded  with 
him  to  the  chamber,  where  the  prince  await- 
ed them.  This  they  found  to  partake  much 
of  the  character  of  a  museum  of  arms  and 
other  warlike  matters,  with  a  few  things  of 
a  more  peaceful  sort.  There  were  ranged 
round  the  room  sundry  sorts  of  armor,  of 
curious  fabric,  confusedly  dispersed  with 
all  manner  of  weapons — models  of  ships, 
boats,  and  pieces  of  ordinance  stood  upon 
the  tables,  with  a  crowd  of  books  and 
pamphlets — whilst  in  other  places  were 
many  ingenious  instruments,  with  globes, 
maps,  and  the  like  objects  of  philosophical 
study. 

When  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner  entered,  an- 
nouncing his  companions,  they  beheld  a 
youth  of  grave  and  studious  aspect,  earnest- 
ly attending  to  the  explanation  of  a  plain 
seafaring  sort  of  man,  who  was  describ- 
ing the  various  parts  of  the  model  of  a  fine 
ship  before  them.  He  was  not  dressed  with 
such  grandeur  as  would  denote  his  dignity, 
yet  there  was  that  princely  air  with  him,  a 
stranger  would  have  been  at  no  loss  to  give 
him  his  right  title.  At  a  distance  was  one 
in  the  habit  of  a  priest,  with  a  mild  expres- 
sion of  countenance  that  greatly  became  his 
calling,  who  appeared  to  be  regarding  the 
young  Prince  with  an  unusual  deep  interest. 
This  was  his  secretarj'  and  tutor,  Master 
Adam  Newton. 

Prince  Henry  received  the  homage  of  his 
visitors  with  a  very  Prince-like  courtesy, 
noticing  of  Master  Shakspeare,  as  it  seem- 
ed, with  singular  curiousness,  the  which 


132 


THE  SECRET  TASSION. 


was  returnee]  by  its  objcrt.  coupled  with  a 
feeling  of  tlie  purest  gratification  ;  and,  af- 
ter tlie  first  few  [)roper  speeciies  had  pass- 
ed, his  Highness  addressed  iiini,  as  though 
he  was  his  assured  h'iend  and  counsellor. 

"  I  hear  you  are  about  venturing  on  a 
long  journey"  said  lie,  "  for  that  you  are 
going  to  travel  as  governor  to  my  Lord  of 
Pembroke's  heir,  to  show  him  whatsoever 
things  are  worthy  of  note  in  other  coun- 
tries." 

Master  Shakspeare  briefly  answered  that 
he  was  about  taking  upon  himself  such  an 
office. 

"  Surely,  my  Lord  of  Pembroke  hath  sin- 
gular good  fortune  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Me- 
ihinks,  it  is  rare  for  any  one,  let  him  be  as 
rich  as  he  please,  to  secure  for  his  son  in 
such  a  case  a  person  so  like  to  do  honor  to 
his  judgment,  and  justice  to  liis  son's  good 
qualities."  The  compliment  was  graceful- 
ly and  gratefully  acknowledged. 

"  I  have  read  several  of  your  works 
Master  Shakspeare,"  added  the  Prince, 
"  and  have  seen  others  represented  by  mine 
own  players  ;  and  believe  me  I  am  exceed- 
ding  taken  with  them."  Here  the  well 
pleased  author  could  do  no  less  than  buw 
very  reverently  at  being  so  commended  by 
his  Prince.  "  There  are  passages  which 
methinks  can  never  be  read  or  repeated  too 
often,  that  will  bear  no  addition  to  their  ve- 
ry exquisite  sweet  beauty,  and  from  which 
nothing  can  be  taken  without  irreparal)le 
loss."  Master  Shakspeare  again  testified 
his  sense  of  the  honor  of  such  praise.  "  I 
have  long  wished  to  have  speech  with  you, 
having  received  such  excellent  profit  from 
all  that  you  have  writ ;  and,  hearing  of 
your  speedy  dejiarture,  I  begged  of  my 
greatly  esteemed  friend.  Sir  Geerge  Carew, 
that  he  would  manage  so  that  I  should  see 
you  before  you  sailed.  I  feel  infinitely 
thankful  to  him  he  hath  so  readily  accom- 
plished my  wishes." 

At  this  Sir  George  said  how  heartily 
glad  he  was,  at  all  times,  to  serve  so  gra- 
cious a  prince,  but  more  especially  in  this 
instance,  when  his  office  v.-as  to  bring  be- 
fore His  Highness's  attention  an  honorable 
gentleman,  whose  qualities  of  mind  and 
lieart  were  of  such  a  sort,  he  felt  it  a  dis- 
tinction to  be  of  his  acquaintance.  There- 
upon Master  Shakspeare  thought  himself 
bound  to  acknowledge,  more  at  length  than 
he  had  before  done,  the  honor  he  had  re- 
ceived ;  and  he  spoke  to  such  good  purpose, 
and  with  such  force  of  language,  the  prince 
seemed  to  listen  with  a  visage  that  plainly 
expressed  his  satisfaction.  He  then  in- 
quired concerning  his  route  ;  and  on  learn-, 


ing  the  cities  in  Italy  he  intended  visiting, 
he  turned  to  his  secretary,  and  bade  liim 
write  such  and  such  letters  to  the  king  his 
lather's  ambassadors  in  those  places,  to  be 
sent  to  Master  Shakspeare's  lodging  with 
all  jiroper  speed.  Then,  learning  lie  was 
to  pass  through  France,  he  prou.ised  he 
would  write  a  letter  in  his  own  hand,  to 
his  excellent  good  friend  the  French  king, 
as  well  to  recommend  unto  His  Majesty  a 
person  of  such  note  as  Master  Shakspeare, 
as  to  thank  him  for  certain  presents  of  ar- 
mor and  arms  Henri  Quatre  had  lately  pre- 
sented him  with. 

These  he  presently  showed  his  visiters, 
and  got  Sir  George  Carew,  wliose  intimate 
knowledge  of  such  things  he  seemed  to 
take  into  great  account,  to  give  his  opinion 
of  them,  after  which  he  spoke  of  certain 
horses  he  had  got  fit  for  the  great  saddle, 
and  exhibited,  in  various  ways,  the  interest 
he  took  in  every  thing  of  a  warlike  charac- 
ter, particularly  dwelling  on  the  model  he 
had  been  so  intent  on  of  a  certain  ship  that 
was  to  be  built  for  him  under  the  direction 
of  that  approved  shipwright,  Phineas  Pelt, 
who,  on  their  entering,  had  been  explain- 
ing to  him  many  interesting  particulars  re- 
lating to  it,  and  speaking  of  a  number  of 
other  subjects  with  such  vivacity  of  tongue 
and  extent  of  knowledge,  that  his  hearers 
were  as  much  gratified  by  his  speech  as 
they  were  charmed  by  his  courtesy. 

On  their  moving  to  depart,  the  prince 
again  spoke  very  earnestly  of  the  marvel- 
lous sweet  pleasure  he  had  had  from  the 
productions  of  Master  Sliakespeare ;  so 
handsomely  alluded  to  the  entertainment  he 
looked  forward  to  on  his  return  from  travel, 
from  new  eficirts  of  liis  fantasy,  and  in  his 
deportment  so  kindly  carried  himself  to- 
wards him  and  his  friend,  that  it  seemed  as 
though  neither  could  find  language  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  express  their  contenta- 
tion.  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner  accompanied 
them,  and  to  him  they  mentioned  the  pride 
they  felt  in  their  good  fortune,  in  having  a 
prince  so  worthy  to  reign  over  them  ;  upon 
which  the  worthy  chamberlain,  who  was  so 
well  pleased  to  hear  as  they  were  to  speak 
his  praises,  gave  them  many  choice  anec- 
dotes of  the  like  behavior  of  his,  at  which 
they  found  excellent  entertainment. 

They  were  pushing  their  v.^ay  through 
the  crowd,  waiting  the  prince's  appearance, 
when  they  were  struck  with  the  stir  that 
was  made  at  the  other  end  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  soon  they  heard  the  cry  spread  of 
■'The  King!  the  king!" 

"  King  James  is  returning  from  hunt- 
ing," said    the   chamberlain ;   "  and   if  he 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


133 


Cometh  back  in  no  better  liumor  than  he 
went,  I  would  as  lief  hang  as  ask  him  a 
favor." 

"  Hath  any  thing  in  particular  put  him 
out  ?"  ask-^d  Master  Shakspearo. 

"  Ay,  something  exceeding  particular," 
answered  he. 

"  Carr  hath  got  tlie  tooth-ache,  per- 
chance ?"  inquired  Sir  George,  with  an  af- 
fectation of  gravity  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  No,  by  this  light  it  is  scarce  so  bad  as 
that,"'  sail  Sir  Thomas,  laughingly.  '"  But 
touching  this  new-made  Earl  of  Rochester, 
for  I  hear  tiie  patent  of  his  nobility  is  al- 
ready made  out,  high  as  he  holds  himself, 
and  secure  as  he  thinks  himself,  methinks 
his  fall  shall  not  be  very  far  distant." 

'•  How  so,  pray  you  ?"  asked  both,  ear- 
nestly. 

"See  you  that  handsome  yovi'Ii,  in  the 
satin  doublet,  curiously  embroidered  7"  de- 
manded the  Prince's  chamberlain. 

"  A  well-limbed  youth,  by  tliis  liand  !  and  of 
a  very  excellent  aspect,"'  said  Muster  Shiks- 
peare.     '•  Of  what  name  and  rank  is  he  ?"' 

"  His  mine  is  Villiers,"  answered  Sir 
Thomas ;  "  and  the  graces  of  his  manners 
are  not  more  conspicuous  than  those  of  his 
person.  Now  King  James  hath  more  than 
once  been  seen  to  cast  an  admiring  eye  on 
his  delicate  figure  ;  and  those  who  know  him 
best  say  it  waitcth  only  some  slight  differ- 
ence to  spring  up  betwixt  Carr  and  his  patron 
for  Villiers  to  stop  in  and  be  preferred  at 
once." 

"  But  what  was  it,  I  pray  you.  Master 
Chamberlain,  that  hath  so  discomposed  His 
Majesty,  as  you  said  but  now  ?"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare. 

'■  Marry,  matter  enough,  of  all  consci- 
ence," answered  he.  "  Some  one,  more 
blessed  with  tongue  than  brains,  hath,  in  his 
place  in  parliament,  so  roundly  abused 
Scotland  and  tlie  whole  Scottish  nation,  that 
every  one  of  that  honest  people,  from  the 
king  to  the  lowest  beggar  among  his  liege 
subjects,  look  upon  it  as  an  intolerable  af- 
front. His  Majesty,  in  especial,  is  in  hor- 
rible disdain  ;  and,  if  the  orator  succeed  in 
keeping  his  ears,  he  will  have  better  fortune 
than  some  predict  for  him." 

Here  the  approach  of  King  James,  and 
the  bustle  it  created,  put  an  end  to  the  dia- 
logue. He  approached  in  a  huniing-habit, 
with  as  little  of  the  trappings  of  royalty  as 
of  its  demeanor,  wearing  a  dull,  stolid  counte- 
nance, marked  by  no  pleasing  lineaments, 
and  exhibiting  a  form  possessing  as  little 
pretensions  of  kingly  state  as  to  manly  grace. 
Near  him  were  several  of  the  courtiers,  who 


had  been  his  companions  in  the  chase,  look- 
ing tired  and  heated,  and  not  a  whit  better 
pleased  thin  their  master,  for  they  had  al! 
had  ill  success.  All  at  once,  as  the  king 
was  advancing  through  the  crowd,  who 
respectfully  made  way  for  him,  a  well- 
apparelled  female,  of  noble  appearance,  rush- 
ed forward,  an  J,  with  every  sign  of  the 
deepest  distress,  threw  herself  at  his  feet. 
The  king  looked  no  less  displeased  than 
surprised  ;  but  he  evidently  knew  not  who 
she  was,  or  what  was  her  object. 

"  By  this  light,  'tis  Dame  Raleigh!"  ex- 
claimed Sir  George  Carew. 

"  Ay."  added  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner,  "  she 
hath  come  ta  sue  his  Majesty  for  the  restora- 
tion of  her  husband's' lands,  which  the  king 
hath  seized,  considering  them  forfeited  by 
Sir  Walter's  late  abominable  treason."  It 
was  no  less  than  he  had  said.  They  could 
hear  her  imploring  the  king,  in  the  most 
passionate,  moving  arguments  woman's  elo- 
quent tongue  ever  uttered,  not  to  strip  her 
innocent  children  of  their  inheritance  ;  but 
the  monarch  turned  from  the  beautiful  ma- 
tron impatiently  ;  and,  with  a  severe  aspect, 
and  almost  savage  voice,  cried  out, "I  maun 
ha' the  land!  I  maun  ha' it  for  Carr!" 
then  hastily  continued  his  progress. 

Master  Shakspeare  smothered  the  execra- 
tion that  readily  rose  to  his  lips  ;  and  his 
companions,  whatever  their  thoughts  may 
have  been,  had  too  much  experience  of  court- 
life  to  betray  them  ;  nevertheless,  they  also 
remained  silent  till  it  came  to  leave-taking. 
Such  eft'ect  had  the  scene  on  him,  that,  for 
some  time,  he  rode  on  in  silence ;  and, 
though  he  entered  into  conversation  with  his 
friend  during  their  return  with  his  accustom- 
ed spirit,  he  did  not  shake  off"  the  feelings 
in  had  created  till  he  found  himself  at  the 
Globe,  and  was  busily  employed  in  making 
the  requisite  preparations  for  the  immediate 
performance  of  his  new  play. 

It  is  here  only  necessary  to  state,  that  this 
ills  very  admirable  and  right-moving  tragedy 
of  Macbeth,  so  took  with  the  public,  that 
more  complete  success  was  never  known; 
and  when  he  beheld  it  thoroughly  established 
witu  the  audience,  he  took  leave  of  his 
friends,  and  prepared  himself  for  the  imme- 
diate commencing  of  his  travels. 


134 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

But  wot  you  what  1     The  young  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  wooing  ; 

The  parson  for  liiiii  staid  ; 
Yet  by  his  leave,  for  all  his  li.iste, 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  .-ill  past, 

Perchance  as  did  the  maid. 

Suckling. 

Marvellous  was  the  stir  in  the  cottage 
at  Shotter)',  when  it  was  discovered  that 
Susanna  had  taken  herself  away  from  home, 
on  the  hazardous  and  difficult  errand  her 
affectionate,  grateful  heart  had  set  her. 
The  tongue  of  Aunt  Prateapace  wagged  as 
tliough  it  was  never  to  stop,  to  the  infinite 
disparagement  of  her  gentle  niece.  Aunt 
Gadahout  lost  no  time  in  going  hither  and 
thither  to  pick  up  what  information  she 
could  of  the  runaway,  and  returned  with  a 
budget  of  scandal,  for  which  she  found 
eager  listeners  ;  but,  ere  she  had  well  got 
rid  of  it,  these  two  came  to  words,  which 
Aunt  Breedhate  did  so  encourage,  tliat  no- 
thing was  like  unto  the  fierceness  of  their 
quarrel.  Nevertheless,  they  agreed  at  least 
in  this — that  they  had  always  been  satisfied 
in  their  own  minds  she  would  come  to  no 
good :  and  then  they  glanced  irom  her  to 
her  estimable  worthy  father,  who,  for  the 
crime  of  encouraging  her  to  quit  her  home 
in  .so  horrible  scandalous  a  fashion,  was 
every  thing  most  intolerably  villanous  and 
to  be  abhorred ;  and,  for  the  shamefulness 
of  his  behavior  to  his  wife,  was  all  the 
brutes  that  ever  went  into  Noah's  Ark,  with 
a  commodity  of  monsters  sufficient  to  supply 
a  similar  establishment. 

Then  they  set  to  lamenting  most  pitifully 
how  poor  wives  were  horribly  tyrannized 
over,  and  laid  it  down,  as  a  well-ascertained 
fact,  that  husbjnds  and  wives  were  natural 
enemies,  and  that  the  latter  being  so  abomi- 
nably put  upon,  ought  to  look  the  sharper 
after  their  proper  riglits  and  privileges  ;  the 
which,  as  it  seemed,  })rincipally  consisted  in 
doing  as  they  pleased,  whether  right  or 
wrong,  and  deceiving  and  defrauding  their 
tyrannical  helpmates  to  the  very  be^t  of  their 
abilities.  On  this  fruitful  subject,  it  may  be 
said  to  their  credit,  they  spoke  like  unto 
those  who  practiced  what  they  preached, 
and  with  an  eloquence  equally  moving  and 
edifying,  until,  as  usual,  sometliing  was  said 
offensive  to  the  otlier,  which  the  third  hantl- 
led  to  such  good  purpose,  that  a  bitter  wran- 
gle ensued  more  sharp  and  lasting  than  the 
one  so  lately  concluded. 

She,  for  whose  pretended  benefit  thoy 
labored  so  assiduously,  said  little  ;  in  truth, 
she  began  to  entertain  misgivings  she  had 


been  led  to  act  a  good  part ;  but  such  ideas 
were  quickly  driven  from  her  by  her  mis- 
chievous kinswomen,  and  she  was  fain  to 
rest  under  the  exceeding  consolation,  that  of 
all  ill-used  wives  she  was  the  most  infamous- 
ly abused.  Her  favorite  daughter,  Judith, 
however,  was  not  to  be  so  easily  contented. 
Under  the  careful  tutorings  of  her  arnts, 
she  had  made  such  progress  in  what  they 
took  to  be  a  woman's  proper  sense  of  her 
own  worth,  that  she  outrivalled  each  in  her 
peculiar  merit.  She  was  as  indiflferent  to 
the  proper  pleasures  of  home  as  Aunt  Gad- 
about— as  greedy  of  gossip  as  Aunt  Pratea- 
pace— and,  not  only  was  as  prone  to  strife 
as  Aunt  Breedhate,  but  shou'ed  her  discon- 
tent of  things  by  a  shrewishness  that  had 
come  to  be  the  general  talk  of  the  whole 
county.  Though  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt 
a  young  woman  of  a  more  enticing  appear- 
ance could  have  been  met  with  anywhere — 
for  her  form  h^id  now  been  moulded  in  that 
ripe  and  tempting  perfectness  for  which  her 
mother  had  been  so  famed  at  a  like  age,  and 
the  rich  blooming  beauty  of  her  countenance 
was  admirable  to  look  on,  at  those  rare 
times,  when  it  was  free  from  the  marks  of 
passion — yet  the  yonng  men  who  knew  her 
took  such  heed  to  avoid  her,  as  though  she 
were  ugly  as  Hecate. 

The  simple  truth  was,  several  had  already 
taken  some  pains  to  prove  themselves  her 
true  lovers ;  but  one  having,  as  a  choice 
proof  of  affection,  got  a  broken  pate,  with  a 
besom-handle  from  her  own  fair  hand,  for 
venturing  to  express  an  o])inion  of  colors 
differing  from  her  own,  another,  equal'y 
fortunate,  escaping  by  a  miracle,  a  martyr- 
dom she  intended  him  by  casting  a  pasty, 
two  wheaten  loves,  a  neat's  tongue,  and  a 
dish  of  pippins  at  his  head,  because,  at  din- 
ner, she  took  offence  at  his  arguing  for 
brown  meats  whilst  she  was  expressing  her 
preference  for  white;  and  divers  luiving 
been  pretty  nearly  annihilated  by  the  flash- 
ings of  her  dark  eyes,  and  the  torrent  of 
searching  words  she  poured  upon  them,  for 
some  small  fault  they  had  unwittingly  com- 
mitted that  had  provoked  her  violent  temper, 
that  all  had  resolved  she  was  of  so  cursed  a 
tongue,  and  so  evilly  disposed  withal,  they 
would  have  none  of  her.  Therefore  had  she 
come  to  be  carefully  avoided  of  them  all,  as 
though  she  had  the  pestilence. 

At  home  she  was  often  as  difficult  to 
please  as  abroad,  and  liad  more  than  once, 
in  scolding,  proved  herself  a  match  for 
either  of  her  aunts,  proficient  though  they 
were  in  the  art.  But,  though  they  had 
been  taught  to  understand  the  force  of  her 
temper,  never  did  it  come  upon  them  with  so 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


135 


sharp  and  pitiful  a  shower  as  after  the  dis- 
covery iiad  been  made  of  her  sister's  flight. 
On  a  sudden,  she  turned  upon  theui,  and  so 
mauled  them  with  her  tongue,  they  were  for 
a  time  clean  dumbfounded  with  astonish- 
ment; nevertheless,  they  were  too  experi- 
enced in  such  warfare  to  be  easily  beaten, 
and  were  inwardly  asliamed  so  young  a 
hand  should  get  the  better  of  them,  even  for 
a  moment ;  therefore  they  took  to  their 
weapons  very  briskly,  in  the  hope  of  quickly 
silencing  their  rash  antagonist.  Thereupon 
ensued  a  terrible  din,  to  which  that  confu- 
sion of  tongues  whicli  existed  at  the  build- 
ing of  tlie  Tower  of  Babel  was  harmony  in 
comparison.  Judith,  so  far  from  being- 
abashed  at  so  overpowering  an  attack,  did 
presently  meet  it  with  a  countercharge  so 
furious,  it  swept  down  all  before  her.  In 
sooth,  she  raised  such  a  hurricane  of  words, 
the  three  scolds  were  one  and  all  fairly  driven 
out  of  the  held ;  and,  after  this,  ever  held 
their  young  kinswoman  in  especial  respect, 
looking  up  to  lior  with  much  the  same  sort 
of  admiration  men  of  war  regard  a  famous 
commander. 

The  niijre  grave  among  the  burgesses  of 
Stratford  became  at  this  time  exceedingly 
disturbed  by  the  wild  pranks  of  a  young 
kinsman,  from  London,  of  Malmsey,  tlie 
vintner,  wlio  was  called  Dick  Quiney.  He 
not  only  spent  his  money  prodigally  in 
roystering  with  divers  his  loose  companions, 
to  the  scandal  of  the  greybeards,  but  kept 
the  whole  town  in  continual  ferment  by 
some  mad  prank  oranotiier,  which  exceeded 
all  things  in  audacity  and  recklessness  the 
longest  liver  amongst  them  had  ever  heard  of. 

At  onetime  he  would  cause  an  ass,  dress- 
ed in  the  robes  of  the  High  Bailift^  to  be 
found  taking  the  bailiff's  place  in  the  Town 
Hall  ;  at  anotlier,  he  would  so  change  the 
signs  that  usually  hung  at  the  burgesses' 
doors,  that  every  one  had  something  as  dif- 
ferent as  possible  to  what  he  had  before, 
which  oft  had  some  satirical  meaning  in't, 
of  which  the  witty  rogues  mnde  rare  sport. 
There  was  a  bunch  of  grapes  seen  hanging- 
over  the  parson's  porch,  and  a  fleece  swung 
before  the  lawyer's  ;  the  apothecary's  door 
boasted  the  sign  used  by  the  furnishers  of 
funerals  ;  and  the  baker's  liad  that  whicli 
belonged  to  the  dealer  in  bones,  chalk  and 
the  like  stores.  One  who  was  known  to 
have  a  scolding  wife  found  his  house  deco- 
rated with  the  sign  of  the  good  woman — 
that  is,  a  woman  without  a  head  ;  and  an- 
other, who  had  shown  himself  dehcient  in 
courage,  was  siiniliarly  pointed  at  by  a 
board  beforr  his  dwelling,  representing  a 
white  hart.     In  brief,  there  was  never  a  day 


passed  that  did  not  bring  forth  some  freak 
of  his  wanton  wit  at  the  expense  of  the 
more  sober-minded  of  the  community. 

But  tiioUj^li  by  some  be  was  regarded  as 
a  scandU  lo  tiie  puice,  his  free  spirit  and 
manly  bearing  iiiadj  him  a  favorite  with 
others.  He  artected  neither  fineness  of  dress 
nor  of  phrase,  though  his  well  knit  limbs 
and  comely  visage  would  have  right  well  be- 
come the  one,  and  his  ready  wit  miglit  not 
have  turned  the  other  to  bad  account.  And 
his  readiness  to  join  in  any  sport,  as  well 
as  to  create  such  sport  as  all  those  of  his 
station  were  sure  totlock  to,  made  him  well 
liked  of  many,  among  whom  be  sure  were 
Tommy  Hart  and  his  merry  partner,  and 
their  constant  associate  and  good  gossip, 
Jonas  Tietape,  who,  by  the  way,  was 
shrewdly  suspected  of  assisting  in  most  of 
the  jests  which  young  Quiney  played  upon 
the  grave  burgesses  of  Stratford.  In  the 
kitchen  of  the  jovial  hatter  he  was  a  fre- 
quent visiter  ;  and  there,  often  after  the  gay 
song  and  merry  tale,  many  a  famous  scheme 
had  been  devised  for  the  furnishing  of  good 
occasion  for  honest  mirth. 

One  night  they  were  altogetlier,  as  merry 
as  s<i  many  crickets  in  a  clover-field.  The 
hatter  and  the  vintner's  nephew  were  play- 
ing at  tables,  with  the  good-humored  Joan 
looking  on,  yet  occasionally  casting  aside 
her  eyes  to  watch  the  strange  movements  of 
Jonas,  who  was  balancing  himself  on  two 
chairs,  and  employing  other  strange  antics, 
much  to  the  diversion  of  herself  and  the 
players,  both  of  whom,  ever  and  anon,  forgot 
their  game  to  be  spectators  of  his  grotesque 
antics.  There  was  no  lack  of  converse 
amongst  them,  but  it  looked  not  to  be  of  the 
very  gravest  import,  if  any  judgment  of  it 
could  be  drawn  from  the  mirth  it  excited. 
The  chief  source  of  tliis  was  the  laughing 
dame,  strongly  recommending  to  the  young- 
bachelor  beside  her,  certain  honest  maids  of 
her  acquaintance  as  wives,  the  whole  of 
wliom  she  knew  to  be  as  little  to  his  taste 
as  ugliness,  shrewishness,  age,  or  folly, 
could  make  them.  At  last,  she  seemed  to 
fix  upon  her  neice  Judith,  of  whose  exceed- 
ing gentleness,  quietness,  and  pleasantness 
of  temper,  she  expatiated  so  largely,  out  of 
tlie  niischievousness  of  her  spirit,  that  ho 
looked  to  be  greatly  taken  with  the  descrip- 
tion, and  swore  lustily  he  would  have  her, 
come  what  would,  for  she  was  exactly  what 
he  wished  to  find  in  a  wife.  At  this  Tommy 
Hart  turned  his  head  on  one  side,  and  laugh- 
ed in  his  sleeve. 

Then  the  merry  Joan  went  on  to  state 
what  a  blessed  family  he  would  unite  him- 
self to,  particularly  referring,  with  famous 


136 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


imposing  words,  on  the  marvellous  sweet 
disposeilness  of  her  three  ancient  kins- 
women : — iiow  singiilarl}'  homely  a  body 
was  Aunt  Gadahout — how  reserved  and 
prudent  witli  her  tongue  was  Aimt  Pratea- 
j)ac'e  —  and  how  precious  and  notable  a 
1  euccmaker  was  Aunt  Brcedbate.  There- 
npcn  young  Quiney  answ'ercd  tliese  were 
tiie  very  sort  of  persons  he  would  most  de- 
sire as  relations.  At  liearing  this,  his  merry 
licst  could  contain  himself  no  longer  ;  and, 
after  the  hugeness  of  his  mirth  had  some- 
what abated,  he  undeceived  his  companion 
as  to  tlie  characters  and  dispositions  of  the 
damsel  and  her  intolerable  meddling,  mar- 
ring, miscliief-making  kinswomen.  And  all 
laughed  at  the  jest  that  had  so  cleverly  been 
])layed  upon  him.  They  very  ccrdially  con- 
gratulated liim  on  his  meeting  a  person  so 
well  fitted  to  secure  his  happiness,  and  as- 
sured him  tliat,  if  his  heart  was  really  so 
pet  on  having  a  shrew,  he  might  bo  certain 
in  Mistress  Judith  to  have  the  most  perfect 
example  of  shrewishness  of  which  all  War- 
wickshire could  boast. 

"  Odds,  cat  o'  mountains  !"  said  he,  very 
merrily.  "  Be  she  ever  so  savage,  I  will 
tame  the  shrew,  I  warrant  you,"  and,  out 
of  bravado,  woidd  still  continue  in  his  hu- 
mor of  taking  her  to  wife  ;  and  the  tales  he 
was  told  of  tlie  villanous  manner  she  had 
behaved  to  her  suitors  only  seemed  to  in- 
flame him  the  more.  He  seemed  to  like 
the  conceit  of  wooing  such  a  tigress,  and  in 
this  humor  started  the  next  morning  for 
Shottery. 

It  so  fortuned  that  Judith  had  that  morn- 
ing chose  to  remain  at  home  whilst  her 
mother  went  on  some  errand  of  revelry  with 
Aunt  Gadabout,  and  was  sitting  in  the 
kitchen,  earnestly  engaged  in  spinning, 
when  she  was  startled  by  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  outer  door.  Thinking  it  was  some 
one  of  her  acquaintance,  she  bade  them 
enter,  tliough  in  no  gentle  voice,  for  she 
was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  disturbed  ;  but  this 
mood  was  in  no  way  lessened,  when  she 
beheld  enter  a  young  fellow  with  a  counte- 
nance and  manner  betaking  of  a  careless 
impudency,  negligently  apparelled,  whom 
she  knew  slightly  by  sight,  but  more  by  re- 
port, as  the  wildest  roysterer  in  Stratford. 
The  cloud  on  her  brow  darkened  ominously 
as  he  hailed  her  on  his  entrance  in  intolera- 
ble familiar  language,  and  made  to  salute 
her  with  a  huge  profession  of  gallantry. 
She  started  up  from  her  seat  with  no  less 
indignation  tlian  amazement,  for  it  was  a 
marvellous  thing  for  any  man  to  offer  to 
come  near  her,  much  less  to  address  her 
after  such  a  fashion. 


"Away  with  thee,  fellow !"  exclaimed  she, 
in  a  right  angry  pitch.  '•  On  what  fool's 
errand  hast  thou  come  here?  Get  thee 
hence,  on  tiie  instant,  or  by  my  halidome 
I'll  crack  thy  crown  for  thee,  thick  as  it  is  !" 
"  What  exquisite  music  !"  exclaimed 
j'oung  Quiney,  in  a  seeming  ecstasy.  "  Had 
the  trees  and  rocks,  that  were  so  moved  by 
the  power  of  Orpheus,  but  have  heard  thy 
harmonious  voice,  they  must  needs  have 
reeled  again  in  the  infinite  sweet  intoxica- 
tion of  its  too  absolute  charm  upon  the 
senses.  Permit  me  to  claim  a  faithful  ser- 
vant's privilege " 

"  Hands  off,  knave  I"  cried  Judith,  as  she 
started  back.  "  Nay,  by  the  rood  !  this  im- 
pudency exceedeth  my  poor  patience.  Pry- 
thee,  have  done  with  it  straiglit,  or  I  will 
give  thee  cause  to  repent  it  the  rest  of  thy 
days." 

"  Deny  me  not,  fair  arbitrcss  of  my  des- 
tiny !"  continued  he,  putting  himself  into 
all  manner  of  extravagant  attitudes,  in  what 
looked  to  be  the  likeness  of  a  courtly  lover, 
only  the  homeliness  of  his  garb  made  it 
seem  infinitely  ridiculous.  "  My  heart  is 
overburthened  with  the  weight  of  my  ex- 
ceeding love  for  thee,  which  I  can  no  longer 
contain  in  pining  secrecy,  as  I  have,  O  light 
of  my  life,  for  so  long  a  time  past." 

"  Thy  heart  and  thee  may  go  hang  to- 
gether," replied  tlie  damsel,  sharply.  "  1 
need  no  sucli  garbage.  Thou  wilt  find,  I 
tell  thee,  thou  hast  taken  t.'ie  wrong  sow  iiy 
the  ear,  an  thou  congest  any  tliy  fool's  tricks 
upon  me." 

"  The  greatness  of  my  passion  must  needs 
find  vent,  dear  heart,"  persisted  he.  "  Love 
hath  such  wondrous  potency,  nought  can 
stay  him  in  his  fond  career  ;  and,  having 
such  food  to  feed  on  as  thy  exquisite  beauty, 
and  admirable  sweet  gentleness  of  nature, 
wliat  marvel  is  it  he  should  be  uncontrolla- 
ble, as  in  mine  own  case.  Matchless  ex- 
ample of  woman's  peril'ctne.ss,  I  must  needs 
do  thee  a  pardonable  violence " 

"  Wouldst !"  cried  she  in  a  fury,  as  she 
snatched  up  a  rollingpin  that  was  nigh  at 
hand.  "  Fll  pardon  thee,  i'failh!"  And 
she  aimed  a  blow  at  him  which,  had  it  taken 
effect,  would  have  (jucnched  the  fire  of  his 
love  had  it  burned  ever  so  fiercely  ;  but  he 
caught  her  wrist  ere  she  had  time  to  use  it, 
and,  despite  her  struggles,  not  only  deprived 
iier  of  her  weapon  but  infiicted  the  violence 
ho  had  spoke  of;  uttering,  ail  the  whilst, 
such  affectionate  declarations  as  it  seemed 
only  could  have  been  drawn  from  the  most 
thoi-ouglily  enamored  heart.  Site  broke 
away  from  his  caress,  and,  in  a  very  mon- 
strous passion,  took  to  flinging  at  his  head 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


137 


with  a  prodigal  store  of  abusive  and  con- ! 
temptuous  epithets,  every  sort  of  tiling  within  j 
her  reach,  that  might  do  him  a  mischief; 
but  lie,  by  his  quickness,  succeeded  in  es- 
caping all  harm,  and  continuing  in  tlie  same 
loving  mood,  again  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
and  took  his  revenge,  nialgre  all  her  kick- 
ings,  plungings,  and  cuthngs,  till  he  was 
content.  It  was  terrible  for  her  to  be  so 
foiled  ;  so  direct  y  she  could  get  away,  her 
first  effort  was  either  by  taking  up  some 
heavy  weapon  to  fell  him  to  the  ground,  or 
to  drive  him  out  of  tlie  place  by  means  of  a 
furious  shower  of  missiles ;  but  she  had 
small  prolit  of  her  pains,  for  he  allowed  no- 
thing to  touch  him,  and,  watching  his  op- 
portunity, soon  succeeded  in  again  taking 
the  freedom  which  did  so  enrage  her. 

At  last,  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  pant- 
ing with  her  long  and  violent  struggles,  with 
a  heated  face,  and  disordered  hair  and  dress, 
she  threw  herself  into  a  chair.  Seeing 
which,  young  Quiney  sat  himself  familiarly 
on  the  table  over-against  her,  and  pursued 
the  gallantry  of  his  huaior  in  his  speech,  as 
thouLfh  nothing  could  ruflla  him.  Judith 
was  so  spent  by  her  exertions,  she  could 
only  get  a  few  words  oat  now  and  then,  but 
their  virulence  showed  the  greatness  of  her 
spirit  was  in  no  way  diminished. 

"  Thoa  art  an  insolent  knave  !  I  doubt 
thy  trae  errand  is  to  rob  the  place." 

"  My  true  errand,  sweet  heart,  is  to  woo 
tliee.'" 

"  Woo  me  !  Ere  I  will  suffer  myself  to 
be  wooed  by  such  a  scurvy  rogue,  I'll  eat 
my  lingers  by  way  of  breakfast." 

"I  will  not  only  woo  thee,  .sweetest,  but 
wed  thee  ;  and  that  shortly." 

"  Nay,  if  thou  dost,  I  will  let  thee  call  me 
a  snipe.  /  marry  such  a  lackfarthing — 
such  a  ruffian  roystering  pickthank  ?  \\  by 
thou  hast  no  more  credit  than  wit,  and  as 
little  honesty  as  either !  I  would  as  lief 
marry  the  whipping-post,  for  it  could  not 
put  me  more  in  mind  of  all  manner  of  knav- 
ishness  and  ill-dealing. 

"  Nevertheless,  sweet  Judith,  be  assured 
1  will  marry  thee  and  none  other ;  and  I 
doubt  not  at  all,  out  of  the  absolute  air.'ction 
thou  dost  kindly  entertain  for  me " 

'■  /  entertain  atF^ction  for  such  a  worth- 
less, ill-behaved  knave  as  thou  art.  I  would 
right  willingly  give  all  I  am  worth  in  this 
world  to  see  theo  have  thy  deserts  from  the 
hands  of  the  hangman." 

"  Thou  wilt  shorten  the  time  of  my  woo- 
ing, so  that  I  may  take  thee  to  church  in  as 
brief  a  space  as  may  be  possible." 

Judith  bitterly  disclaimed  any  such  in- 
tention ;  nevertheless,  her  lover  continued 


to  sit  with  his  heels  dangling  under  the 
table,  perseveringly  insisting  on  the  won- 
drous greatness  ot  her  love  for  him,  and  the 
necessity  of  their  speedy  marriage,  and  took 
no  manner  of  heed  of  her  interruptions.  But 
whether  it  was  it  so  chanced  she  could  not 
help  being  influenced  by  such  singular  be- 
havior, or,  as  she  sat,  had  time  to  scan  the 
handsome  features  and  well-knit  figure  of 
her  determined  gallant,  whicii  was  evident 
enough  in  spite  of  his  rough,  unhandsome 
garment^,  her  abuse  began  perceptibly  to  be 
less  violent. 

At  this  time,  her  aunts  Breedbate  and 
Prateapace — who  had  hitherto  been  no 
farther  off  than  the  garden,  yet  were  en- 
gaged in  so  violent  a  dispute  they  had  heard 
nothing  of  what  had  been  going  on  in  the 
kitchen — entered,  and  no  sooner  did  they 
spy  young  Quiney,  sitting  at  his  ease  so 
famously,  than  thev  took  to  calling  him  to 
task  in  the  severest  language  they  had  at 
their  commandment;  during  which  he  look- 
ed them  quietly  in  tiie  face,  and  whistled 
and  drummed  on  the  table  with  an  excess 
of  impudency  th;it  inflamed  their  rage  the 
more.  His  mistress,  who  seldom  missed 
an  opportvmity  of  defying  her  meddling 
kinswomen,  was  drawn  more  towards  him 
by  this  opposition  of  theirs  to  him  ;  yet  she 
did  not  think  proper  to  interfere  in  tlie  mat- 
ter. 

Aunt  Breodbate  and  aunt  Prateapace  now 
became  quite  furious,  and  in  a  torrent  of 
villanous  language  bade  the  intruder  be- 
gone, or  they  would  tear  his  eyes  out ;  at 
which  he  suddenly  jumped  down,  and  put- 
ting on  a  liorrible  fierce  look,  snatched 
up  a  spit  that  was  hanging  above  the 
chimney,  levelling  it  at  them,  shouted  out  in 
a  most  murderous  voice  : 

"Hal  dost  dare  attempt  such  sacrilege 
as  to  disturb  two  happy  lovers  ?  Nay,  then, 
I'll  pin  thee  to  the  wail  like  a  couple  of  cock- 
chafers." But  the  sight  nf  the  point  of  the 
blade,  presented  in  so  formidable  a  manner, 
was  enough  for  them,  and  ere  you  could 
count  one,  they  turned  tail  and  fled,  shriek- 
ing like  scalded  pigs,  into  the  garden,  in 
their  haste  stumbling  over  each  other  as 
they  got  to  tlie  threslihold. 

Judith  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  the 

ridiculous  fright  the  two  old  women  were 

put   into — but  there   were   other  laughers 

besides  herself — for  young  Quiney "s  gossips, 

Jonas  Tietape  and  Tommy  Hart,  had  come 

to  see  how  their  friend  fared  in  liis  wooing 

of  the  terrible  shrew,  and  from  the  open  door 

I  had  been  spectators  of  it  from  first  to  last. 

1  Jonas  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  conceit 

I  of  the  cockchafers,  that,  wtiilst  his  companion 


138 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


was  enjoying  his  mirth,  ho  commenced  before 
tlie  house  a  series  ol"  tumbles,  with  ail  his 
might,  quite  forgetful  of  a  young  terrier  lie 
had  got  in  each  pocket,  who  put  out  their 
heads,  and  yelped  most  lustily  at  being  so 
strangely  turned  about. 

Judith's  lover  ni.w  took  his  departure,  yet 
with  many  famous  speeches  denoting  the 
excess  of  his  love,  and  the  intolerable  hard- 
ship of  tearing  himself  away  ;  but,  the  next 
day,  after  watching  the  absence  of  her 
mother  and  aunts,  he  again  presented  him- 
self before  her,  and  a  like  scene  passed  be- 
tween them,  with  this  difference,  that  she 
did  not  ].uc  iierself  in  so  tearing  a  passion, 
nor  abuse  him  quite  so  scurvily  as  she  had 
done  the  day  before.  The  truth  was,  her 
mother  and  her  aunts,  hearing  of  his  strange 
visit  and  its  object,  did  declaim  against  him 
so  fiercely,  that,  out  of  sheer  opposition,  as 
washer  wont,  she  took  up  the  cudgels- in 
his  defence,  and  swore  very  roundly  he 
should  marry  her,  an  she  liked  it,  come  what 
would.  Nevertheless,  when  he  repeated  his 
visit  every  day,  assuming  to  himself  the 
appearance  of  one  who  is  greatly  beloved, 
she  was  frequently  exceeding  sharp  upon 
him  ;  but  his  perseverance  won  so  upon  her, 
that  at  last,  looking  to  be  in  a  great  rage, 
she  promised  she  would  marry  him,  that  slie 
might  be  the  better  able  to  punish  him  for 
his  matchless  impudency. 

In  this  huinor  the  wedding-day  was  soon 
fixed,  but,  when  the  neighbors  came  to  hoar 
of  it,  there  seemed  no  end  to  their  marvel- 
ling. To  think  that  Judith  should  find  a 
husband !  They  could  scarce  believe  it 
possible ;  and  that  so  reckless  a  fellow  as 
Dick  Quiney  should  have  sought  out  a 
helpmate  of  Judith's  villanous  temper,  so 
monstrous  looked  the  union,  they  could 
hardly  be  brought  to  believe  it.  The  matter 
though  was  settled :  and  every  day  the  dis- 
inclination of  tlie  damsel  to  it  became  less 
and  less  evident ;  in  truth,  she  could  not  but 
admire  tlie  spirit  with  which  her  lover  pur- 
sued his  object,  and  be  amused  with  the 
extravagance  of  his  professions  in  averring 
the  prodigious  extent  of  her  affection  for 
him.  Ever  and  anon  she  broke  out  into 
sudden  rages,  but  these  latterly  had  come  at 
longer  intervals. 

The  wedding  day  approached,  and  she 
determined  on  carrying  it  with  a  high  hand, 
bid  all  her  friends  to  the  ceremony,  and  got 
together  as  much  finery  as  she  could  to 
grace  the  occasion.  Some  of  her  acquaint- 
ance affected  to  lament  her  so  casting  of 
herself  away;  but  others — and  these  were 
such  as  had  had  most  knowledge  of  her  dis- 
position— by  this  time  had  assured   them- 1 


selves  this  marriage  promised  to  be  a  good 
riddance  of  her. 

The  wedding-day  arrived,  and  the  bride 
and  all  the  company  were  assembled  in 
their  holiday  suits,  ready  to  go  to  church. 
Of  the  latter,  whatever  might  have  been 
their  thoughts,  their  visages  were  as  pleas- 
ant as  though  the  match  was  one  of  their 
own  contriving.  They  had  been  waiting- 
some  time,  to  the  damsel's  infinite  impa- 
tience, and  yet  no  bridegroom  had  arrived. 
Juditli  began  to  chafe  at  this  neglect,  and 
her  brow  darkened,  and  her  foot  beat  the 
ground.  Still  no  bridegroom  came.  His 
absence  began  to  be  marked,  and  whisj)ers 
went  round,  which  the  bride  observed  not 
without  a  marvellous  increase  to  her  former 
discontent.  For  a  time  she  managed  to 
comfort  herself  to  some  small  extent,  by 
imagining  that  in  honor  of  her  he  had  been 
making  extraordinary  preparations  which 
delayed  him,  and  in  a  brief  while  he  would 
doubtless  appear  at  the  head  of  a  gallant 
cavalcade,  all  in  new  suits,  got  ready  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion.  But,  as  time 
passed,  and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  him, 
she  began  to  suspect  he  had  no  intention  of 
marrying  at  all,  and  only  cared  to  put  her  to 
this  public  shame. 

The  idea  of  it  so  galled  her,  that  she  was 
about  bursting  fortli  in  a  horrible  tearing 
rage,  to  send  every  one  sans  ceremony 
about  his  business,  when  she  heard  the  wel- 
come intelligence  of  his  coming.  She  took 
a  hasty  pee|)  at  the  casement,  to  observe  the 
brave  fashion  in  which  he  had  chosen  to 
lead  her  to  church,  but  words  of  mine  can- 
not picture  her  dismay,  indignation  and 
shame,  when  she  beheld  him  approaching 
on  foot  with  hasty  strides,  not  only  in  tlie 
old  buff  jerkin  and  slops,  the  soiled  bouts, 
and  the  worn  beaver,  she  had  ever  seen  on 
him,  but  so  covered  with  dust  from  head  to 
foot,  he  could  scarce  be  recognized.  Instead 
of  the  gallant  company  she  expected  with 
him,  there  followed  close  at  his  heels  the 
well-known  figure  of  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a 
similar  rude  suit,  making  the  most  extrava- 
gant strides  to  keep  pace  with  hinii  with 
the  heads  of  two  young  water-dogs  peeping 
out  of  his  pockets,  a  long  rusty  sword  at 
his  side,  and  a  pair  of  pistolets  in  his  belt. 

Without  a  word  said,  young  Quincy  strode 
through  the  astonished  crowd  assembled  to 
do  honor  to  his  nuptials,  and  the  wouian's 
tailor  quite  as  indifferently  strode  aft(;r  hiin. 
The  bridegroom  stopped  before  the  enraged 
and  humiliated  bride,  and,  malgre  her  black 
looks,  accosted  her  with  a  iamiliarity  in  no 
way  corresponding  with  tlie  time,  and  in  a 
voice  all  could  hear,  vowed  he  had  been 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


139 


playing  at  bowls,  and  had  nipfh  forgotten 
his  appointment;  then,  hastily  turning  to 
his  trusty  squire,  who  had  assumed  a  very 
owl-like  visage,  he  inquired  whether  he 
thouo-lit  not  ijowls  an  exceeding  pleasant 
pastime  to  while  away  a  dull  hour  or  so,  to 
which  the  other  answered,  in  a  monstrous 
aggravating  voice  : — "  By  goles,  there  was 
none  such  in  his  estimation,  when  he  was 
of  the  winning  side,  and  the  tipple  was 


The  whole  assembly  looked  thunderstruck, 
and  the  bride  could  not  conceal  her  intense 
mortilication,  liut  time  pressed  so  closely,  it 
admitted  of  no  remonstrance  on  her  part ;  so, 
comforting  ijer  loving  nature  with  tlie  pros- 
pect of  an  ample  revenge,  she  allowed  her- 
self to  be  led  to  cluirch,  her  lover  all  the 
way  behaving  towards  her  as  tliough  he 
had  done  all  that  was  best  and  fittest,  and 
that  sJie  must  needs  be  satisfied  with  him 
in  every  respect,  and  occasionally  turning 
away  from  her  to  ask  some  question  about 
the  game  he  had  been  playing,  of  the  wo- 
man's tailor,  who  chose  to  walk  in  the  pro- 
cession a  little  way  behind  him.  Judith  felt 
disposed  to  have  brained  them  both,  so  hor- 
ribly indignant  was  she  with  the  sHghts 
that  had  been  put  upon  her,  but  she  satis- 
fied herself  with  nursing  her  wrath,  and 
vowing  all  sorts  of  intolerable  retaliations. 
As  they  came  to  the  church-door,  Quiney 
turned  round,  and  reminded  his  companion 
the  steeds  would  be  wanted  at  such  a  time, 
to  which  the  other  answered  : — "  The  noble 
animals  should  be  in  attendance  at  his 
worship's  orrler." 

The  ceremony  proceeded,  every  one  mar- 
velling more  and  more  at  the  strange  be- 
havior of  the  young  bridegroom.  Judith 
had  fancied  she  had  endured  enough  af- 
fronts ;  but,  when  the  priest  demanded 
"  who  gave  the  maid  away  ?"  and  Jonas 
Tietape,  puppy-dogs  and  all,  gravely  step- 
ped forward  to  claim  that  office,  she  felt 
ready  to  sink  into  the  earth  with  vexation ; 
and  at  the  termination  of  the  ceremony  she 
relished  not  a  whit  the  more  the  rough, 
rude  manner  in  which  her  husband,  before 
all  the  people,  gave  her  a  salute  which 
made  the  clmrch  ring  again,  and  hailed  her 
as  Dame  Quiney,  after  such  boisterous 
fashion  as  might  be  seen  only  at  the  wed- 
ding of  a  tinker.  She  seemed  overpowered 
with  this  villanous  usage.  No  one  con- 
gratulated her ;  for  in  truth,  all  were  so 
wonderstruck  they  knew  not  what  to  do ; 
and  she  proceeded  back  to  the  church-door 
in  so  discontented  a  state  of  mind,  she  had 
resolved,  when  she  mounted  on  one  of  the 
"  noble  steeds"  she  had  heard  would  be  pro- 


vided to  take  her  to  her  husband's  home,  to 
ride  away  somewhere,  she  cared  not  whith- 
er, so  that  she  escaped  the  base  usage  to 
which  she  had  been  subjected. 

But,  whatever  had  been  her  discontent 
hitherto,  it  increased  to  a  pitch  beyond  all 
toleration  when  she  beheld  at  the  church 
door,  a  raw-boned,  wind-galled,  goose-rump- 
ed,  wall-eyed  animal,  that  seemed  in  age  a 
very  Methusalem  among  horses,  which  evi- 
dently by  the  pillion  fastened  upon  him,  was 
intended  for  her  riding ;  and,  by  his  side, 
was  a  half  starved  donkey — looking  as  mis- 
erable as  though  he  had  not  a  belly-full 
since  the  day  he  was  foaled — which  she 
supposed  must  be  for  her  husband.  At  the 
very  sight  of  these  "'  noble  steeds"'  she  held 
back,  and,  fearing  she  could  have  no  better 
conveyance,  she  flatly  refused  to  budge  a 
foot  to  mount  such  wretched  horseflesh. 

In  vain  the  bridegroom,  with  most  per- 
suasive gentleness,  assured  her  that  she 
could  not  reach  his  dwelling  in  any  odier 
way,  and  dilated  on  the  matchless  qualities 
of  the  horse,  relating  a  pedigree  boasting 
of  the  first  blood  of  the  kingdom.  She 
vowed  she  would  not  be  a  laughing-stock 
to  her  friends,  and  stoutly  determined  no 
power  on  earth  shoidd  make  her  mount  so 
sorry  a  beast.  At  this,  Quiney  himself 
mounted  the  horse,  all  the  whilst  giving  him 
as  many  flattering  expressions  as  though  he 
were  an  Arabian  of  the  purest  descent,  and 
then  made  a  sign  to  his  gossip,  the  woman's 
tailor.  In  a  moment  Judith  found  herself 
enclosed  in  two  powerful  arms,  raised  from 
the  ground,  and,  in  the  next,  despite  her 
struggles  and  cries,  placed  on  the  pil- 
lion by  the  side  of  her  husband.  Having 
dune  this  with  singular  dexterity,  Jonas 
mounted  the  donkey,  and,  amid  the  laughs 
and  shouts  of  the  spectators,  the  three  started 
off". 

Finding  in  physical  force,  she  was  no 
march  for  him  into  whose  hands  she  had  fal- 
len, she  let  loose  her  tongue,  and  did  so  be- 
maul  him  with  it,  such  a  torrent  of  invec- 
tive was  surely  never  heard  before  ;  but  he 
minded  it  not  a  jot,  every  now  and  then  stop- 
ping in  the  tune  he  was  whistling,  to  ask 
her,  with  a  marvellous  show  ui  affection,  if 
she  felt  herself  perfectly  comfortable  ;  or 
turning  unconcernedly  around  to  his  trusty 
companion,  to  make  some  pleasant  remark, 
which  v/as  sure  to  elicit  a  smart  rejoinder, 
in  the  roughest  tone  voice  ever  had.  Her 
surprise  at  this  indifierency  became  much 
lessened,  when  she  discovered  that  her 
husband's  ears  were  so  stuffed  with  cotton, 
doubtless  for  the  occasion,  that,  had  she 
rated  him  in  ever  so  high  a  key,  ho  could 


140 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


have  lieard  no  more  than  one  who  was  a 
thoiisaiid  miles  off.  Finding  .-scolding  of  no 
avail,  .she  grow  to  be  .sulky,  and  would  an- 
swer no  questions  ;  but,  as  her  husband 
seemed  careless  whether  slie  replied  or  not 
to  what  he  said,  .she  got  but  small  s.ttisl'ac- 
tion  from  her  silence.  All  this  time  she 
was  e.xceeding  curious  as  to  where  she  was 
going  ;  but  it  did  not  appear  slie  was  like  to 
have  any  information  very  .speedily. 

In  a  few  hours  they  arrived  at  a  desolate- 
looking  cottage  on  the  heath,  far  from  any 
public  road.  She  entered,  and  the  unprom- 
ising outside  was  not  a  foretoken  of  the 
want  of  comfort  within.  Indeed  it  did  so 
lack  all  proper  accommodation,  that,  forget- 
ting her  late  humor  of  sulkiness,  and  the 
small  likelihood  there  was  of  her  talking  to 
any  profit,  she  once  more  burst  out  into  the 
most  overwhelming  reproaches  and  abuse, 
till  she  remembered  how  idle  was  all  mat- 
ter of  speech  ;  then,  breaking  forth  in  a  rage 
to  be  so  foiled  and  unliandso.nely  used,  she 
began  to  scatter  and  destroy  everything  that 
was  within  her  reach.  Much  did  she  mar- 
vel to  find  her  husband,  instead  of  checking 
her  as  she  expected,  not  only  encouraging 
her  by  Ins  voice,  but  assisting  her  in  the 
work  of  destruction,  and  with  such  extra- 
ordinary fury,  that,  in  a  brief  while,  there 
was  not  a  thing  of  any  sort  left  whole  in  the 
chamber.  Then  she  took  to  be  sulky  again, 
and  sat  herself  down  on  a  bench  fixed 
against  the  wall,  lieating  her  foot  against 
the  ground,  and  biting  the  string  of  beads 
she  wore  round  her  neck  with  a  pull  which 
looked  as  if  it  was  about  to  be  torn  assun- 
der. 

Presently  the  woman's  tailor  made  his 
appearance,  and  he  and  the  bridegroom  be- 
gan jesting  with  each  other,  seemingly  to 
be  as  indifferent  of  her  presence  as  though 
she  was  a  stone.  From  this  Jonas  Tietape 
got  to  his  tricks — he  tumbled,  he  juggled, 
he  did  so  many  wonders  and  in  so  ludicrous 
a  way,  that  Judith  found  herself  more  than 
once  unable  to  refrain  from  joining  in  the 
hearty  mirth  they  caused.  By  this  time, 
vexed  to  the  heart  as  she  had  been,  she 
could  not  help  feeling  unusually  hungry, 
which  cannot  be  thought  singular  when  it 
is  known  she  had  scarce  ate  anything  the 
whole  day,  and  liad  had  a  long  ride  in  the 
keen  air.  It  was  now  getting  late,  yet  no 
sign  of  a  meal  had  appeared.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  say  anything,  were  it 
ever  so,  yet  she  would  have  been  right  glad 
to  have  had  an  opportunity  of  breaking  her 
fast. 

Notwithstanding  her  hunger,  hour  after 
hour  passed  by,  and  yet  she  saw  no  means 


of  satisfying  it.  Her  companions  continued 
lo  divert  themselves  as  though  they  were 
so  used  to  long  fasts  they  cared  not  tcjr  eat- 
ing. She  expected  no  abundance,  nor  any 
show  of  delicacies  where  she  was;  but,  as 
I  he  time  passed  without  bringing  forth  the 
slightest  sign  of  diet  of  any  sort,  she  began 
to  fear  she  was  in  a  fair  way  of  sufiering  all 
the  horrors  of  starvation.  'I'o  her  great 
relief,  an  old  woman,  with  a  visage  like  a 
dried  applejohn,  came  and  announced  sup- 
per; and,  all  at  once,  her  husband  seemed 
to  grow  marvellous  attentive,  and  offered 
his  arm,  with  a  wonderful  affectionate 
speech,  to  lead  her  to  the  chamber  where 
the  supper  was  laid.  She  did  not  think 
proper  to  accept  his  civilities,  but  she  rose 
and  walked  out  of  the  chamber  with  him,  as 
otherwise  she  would  have  been  left  alone 
and  in  the  dark.  She  passed  into  another 
chamber — where  tliere  were  a  few  stools 
and  a  table — as  a  ragged  boy  was  serving 
up  the  supper. 

The  place  was  mean  and  bare,  but  the 
meal  gave  her  even  less  satisfaction,  for 
there  looked  not  to  be  enough  for  one,  and 
it  was  such  as  none  but  a  beggar  might 
have  been  content  with.  Juditii,  however, 
was  by  this  time  in  so  ravenous  a  mood  that 
she  was  willing  to  let  her  pride  wait  upon 
her  hunger.  The  meat  looked  stale  and  the 
bread  hard  and  dry,  but  she  felt  she  could 
have  devoured  even  such  poor  eating  with 
a  fine  relish.  Such  relish,  however,  she 
was  not  fated  to  enjoy ;  for,  on  a  sudden,  as 
the  bridegroom  was  paying  her  some  e.x- 
ceeding  gallant  compliments,  his  eye  seem- 
ed to  fiash  at  something  he  took  note  of  at 
the  table,  and  he  broke  out  into  the  most 
ungovernable  fury  of  passion  eye  ever  be- 
held. He  expressed  the  terriblest  indigna- 
tion and  rage,  and  actually  seemed  to  team 
at  the  mouth  as  he  denounced  the  omission 
he  perceived.     There  were  no  custards  ! 

Though  custards  seemed  as  out  of  place 
amongst  such  miserable  odds  and  ends  as 
the  table  afforded,  as  a  court  dame  in  a 
lazar-houso,  their  absence  was  regarded  as 
an  offence  not  to  be  pardoned.  In  vain  the 
bride  urgently  affirmed  she  cared  not  for 
custards ;  in  vain  she  acknowledged  she 
was  content  with  what  see  saw  betore  her, 
and  was  willing  to  make  her  supper  of  it — 
her  husband,  increasing  in  his  fury,  threw 
the  viands  out  of  the  open  casement,  kicked 
over  the  table,  and,  taking  up  a  three-legged 
slool,  run  after  the  ragged  urchin,  swearing 
lustily  he  would  make  an  example  of  him, 
for  showing  such  neglect  towards  his  new- 
made  wile. 

The  woman's  tailor  had  disappeared,  so 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


141 


that,  on  the  departure  of  h?r  husband,  Ju- 
dith found  herself  ulone.  Great  as  was  her 
spirit,  she  feh  somewhat  alarmed  at  the 
outrageous  violence  she  had  just  witnessed. 
Her  appetite  was  gone ;  she  cared  not  now  for 
partaking  of  the  goodliest  banquet  the  world 
could  produce  ;  and  when  the  old  woaian 
entered,  scarcely  able  to  speak  for  very  fear, 
the  few  exclamations  she  uttered  pointed  to 
matter  so  horrible,  she  begged  she  might  be 
led  to  her  chamber.  This  was  readily  done, 
and  the  old  crone  did  not  leave  her  till  she 
had  tilled  the  mind  of  th_-  young  bride  with 
the  most  fearful  accounts  of  the  terrible  fu- 
rious temper  of  her  husband  whenever  he 
met  with  any  sort  of  opposition.  In  other 
respects,  ho  was  described  as  a  man  so  mar- 
vellously well  disj)osed,  any  woman  might 
be  happy  with  him  to  the  end  of  her  days  ; 
but,  whenever  it  chanced  he  was  crossed, 
or  contradicted,  or  opposed  in  any  manner 
whatsoever,  no  whirlwind  was  so  fierce  as 
his  wrath. 

Judith  locked  herself  in  her  cliamber,  not 
without  a  secret  dread  the  door  might  pres- 
ently be  burst  open,  and  herself  be  made  a 
suiferer  i'rom  such  frantic  violence  as  she 
had  witnessed.  Her  meditations,  which 
were  none  of  the  pleasantest,  were  frequent- 
ly disturbed  by  strange,  unnatural  noises, 
which  made  her  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 
She  did  not  dare  to  stir — she  could  not  at- 
tempt to  go  to  sleep ;  but,  from  hour  to 
hour,  continued  to  expect  to  be  involved  in 
a  scene  of  uproar  which  appeared  to  be  go- 
ing on  below. 

Little  did  she  fancy  that  her  husband  all 
this  while  was  never  in  so  good  a  humor  in  ' 
his  life,  and  that,  saving  a  few  minutes 
passed  in  making  for  her  sole  entertainment 
the  unnatural  screeches  that  so  frightened! 
her,  he  was  feasting  right  merrily  from  a 
bountiful  store  of  excellent  meats,  with  his  ' 
fast  friend  and  counsellors,  Jonas  Tietape ! 
and  Tommy  Hart,  and  kept  pledging  with  j 
them  bumper  after  bumper  of  most  choice  , 
Gascon,  to  "  The  speedy  and  thorough  tam- 
ing of  the  Shrew." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

These  are  the  works  of  our  God,  whereby 
he  would  admonish  the  tyrants  of  this  earth, 
that  in  the  end  he  will  be  revenged  of  their 
cruelty,  what  strength  soever  they  make  in  the 
contrary. 

John  Knox. 

It  was  on  a  morning  of  matchless  beauty 


— the  sky  being  all  around  of  a  clear,  in- 
tense blue,  the  soft,  warm,  voluptuous  air, 
refreshed  by  its  closeness  to  the  sea,  which 
looked  of  a  delicious  coolness  and  transpa- 
rency— that  a  small  ship,  of  that  sort  called 
a  pink,  was  seen  entering  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
It  was  evident  she  had  no  warlike  intention, 
from  the  absence  in  her  of  any  thing  which 
showed  a  disposition  for  hostilities  ;  never- 
theless, a  few  guns,  well  placed,  gave  sure 
sign  that  she  was  not  altogether  unprepared  to 
make  a  defence,  should  she  be  attacked.  At 
this  time,  however,  she  neither  expected  nor 
sought  to  use  such  weapons  ;  her  sails  were 
spread  to  catch  the  breeze  that  was  gaily 
wafting  her  to  her  destined  port;  and  on 
her  deck  might  be  seen  several  curious 
spectators  enjoying  the  lovely  prospect  that 
opened  before  them. 

Prominent  amongst  them  there  stood  the 
figure  of  one  in  his  full  manhood,  well  fa- 
vored in  countenance,  noble  in  figure,  hand- 
somely but  not  too  bravely  apparelled,  and 
bearing  about  him  many  other  marks  that 
point  out  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  note 
in  the  eye  of  the  world.  He  was  addressing 
a  youth  that  was  leaning  over  the  side  of 
the  vessel,  and  by  his  manner  it  might  be 
supposed  tliey  were  father  and  son,  had  not 
the  deep  affectionateness  which  beamed  in 
the  intellectual  countonanceof  the  elder  one 
been  mingled  with  a  respect  that  spoke 
more  of  homage  due  to  superior  rank.  The 
younger  of  the  two,  though  the  natural 
graces  of  his  face  and  person,  set  off  as  they 
were  with  such  admirable  bravery  as  he 
displayed,  might  have  seemed  to  furnish 
ample  proof  of  relationship,  the  indifferency, 
beyond  the  interests  he  condd  not  help  feel- 
ing for  the  objects  to  which  his  attention 
was  directed,  with  which  he  listened  to  the 
speech  of  his  most  eloquent  companion  as 
he  pointed  out  the  beauties  of  the  magnifi- 
cent scene  that  every  moment  seemed  to 
become  more  enticing,  was  sufficient  assur- 
ance he  was  no  son  of  his. 

Such,  in  truth,  was  the  case — the  former 
being  no  other  than  our  marvellous  sweet 
Shakspeare,  and  the  other  Master  William 
Herbert,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke's  heir,  to 
whom,  at  the  desire  of  one  whose  slightest 
wish  had  long  been  the  most  absolute  of 
laws,  he  was  now  travelling  to  the  principal 
countries  of  Europe,  as  his  governor,  and 
diligently  did  he  endeavor  to  fulfil  satisfac- 
torily tlie  task  he  had  undertaken.  He 
strove,  by  all  means  in  his  power,  to  make 
the  mind  entrusted  to  him  acquire  whatever 
of  knowledge,  or  the  love  of  it,  he  himself 
possessed  ;  and  his  discourse  was  so  preg- 
nant with  high  and  noble  truths,  that  often 


142 


THE  SECRET  I'ASSION. 


the  nidc  mariners  tliat  chanced  to  he  within 
earshot  ol  him,  stO))pe(i  what  labour  they 
were  about,  and  forgot  their  business,  how- 
ever pressing  it  might  be,  as  they  hstened  to 
his  wondrous  speech. 

Nor  was  it  done  less  lovingly  than  dili- 
gently. Indeed,  he  had  cheated  himself 
into  no  common  pleasure  in  the  conceit,  that 
the  sumless  heaps  of  love  he  might  not  feel 
for  tlie  mother,  he  could  allow  himself  to 
feel  for  the  son  as  her  representative,  image, 
and  second  self.  All  the  voyage,  he  had 
secretly  been  feeding  his  heart  with  the  i 
most  passionate  transports  for  his  young 
namesake  and  pupil ;  and  as  he  was  forced  i 
to  conceal  as  much  as  lay  in  his  power  the 
idolatry  with  which  the  youth  was  regarded 
by  him,  and  yet  could  not  restrain  the  busy 
world  within,  he,  at  every  convenient  oppor- 
tunity, privily  committed  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  to  paper,  in  the  form  of  the  most 
exquisite  verse  poet  ever  writ.  This  prac- 
tice he  continued  for  a  long  time  after. 
Often,  when  he  had  been  struggling  to  en- 
dure outwardly  unmoved  the  coldness  in  the 
unconscious  inheritor  of  the  features  of  the 
noble  lady,  against  the  powerful  influence 
of  whose  excellences  he  had  so  long  and 
vainly  struggled,  has  some  passionate  son- 
net expressed  and  eased  the  fulness  of  his 
o'ercharged  heart. 

But  this  excess  of  afTection  rested  not  en- 
tirely, though,  in  sooth,  it  did  in  a  marvel- 
lous great  measure,  on  the  grounds  here  stat- 
ed, for  he  would  fancy  at  times  that,  had  his 
loved  riamnet  lived,  he  would  have  been 
just  such  another  goodly  youth  to  look  on  as 
Master  Herbert,  and  thereupon  he  would 
mingle  the  gallantry  of  his  devotion  to  the 
representative  of  the  best  and  loveliest  lady 
of  her  age,  with  the  touching  earnestness  of 
that  fathomless  love  with  which  he  had  been 
wont  to  look  on  the  sweetest,  worthiest  son 
fond  father  ever  had. 

Whilst  he  was  talking,  one  who  looked  to 
he  the  captain,  a  sturdy  Englishman,  who 
knew  well  the  country  he  was  sailing  to, 
joined  the  croup,  and,  in  answer  to  Master 
Shakspeare's  praise  of  the  smiling  Eden 
from  which  he  had  been  drawing  such  in- 
finite contentation,  he  launched  out  into 
very  sharp  abuse  of  it,  vowing  that  it  har- 
bored so  many  who  lived  by  spoiling  and 
murdering  all  such  as  came  in  their  way, 
that  the  place  was  clean  unfit  for  a  Chris- 
tian to  live  in.  In  proof  of  what  he  ad- 
vanced, he  spoke  of  a  noted  brigand  called 
Zingano — who  had  lately  infested  those 
parts — a  captain  of  wandering  ]3ohemians, 
who  had  made  himself  a  terror  to  the  whole 
neighborhood,  by  plundering  travellers  and 


attacking  and  carrying  off  to  their  secret 
caves  any  one  in  their  reach  who  could  pay 
a  tempting  price  for  his  ransom,  making 
short  work  of  such  as  they  could  not  make 
a  market  of.  This  intelligence  did,  in  some 
measnre,  damp  the  pleasure  Muster  Shak- 
speare  felt  in  observing  so  fair  a  scene  ;  but 
much  time  was  not  allowed  him  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  his  disappointment,  for,  by 
this  time,  the  pink  had  entered  so  far  into 
the  bay,  that  the  anchor  was  let  go,  and  pre- 
parations were  made  for  an  immediate  land- 
ing. 

Master  Shakspeare's  party  consisted  of 
himself  and  young  Herbert,  and  the  former's 
faithful  serving-man,  Simon  Stockfish  ;  with 
them  came  an  aged  mariner,  of  a  wild,  un- 
natural aspect,  whose  exceeding  taciturnity 
was  so  much  to  the  humor  of  Simon,  that 
he  engaged  him  to  attend  his  master  on 
shore,  and  help  take  charge  of  the  luggage. 
They  reached  the  landing-place  without  any 
hindrance  or  ditficulty,  and  soon  were  in  the 
streets  of  Naples,  to  the  vast  content  of 
Master  Herbert,  who  seemed  to  admire 
hugely  every  thing  out  of  the  ordinary  that 
met  his  observation.  His  governor  failed 
not  to  direct  his  attention  to  what  was  most 
worthy  of  note,  but  he  looked  too  pleased 
with  the  aspect  of  all  that  met  his  gaze  to 
heed  much  what  was  said. 

In  the  house  in  which  they  presently  took 
up  their  lodging  they  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  meet  with  a  person  ready,  for  a  fitting  re- 
ward, to  do  them  all  good  services  in  show- 
ing them  whatever  in  the  city  was  consider- 
ed worthy  of  observation.  But  all  the  talk 
of  Naples  then  was  of  Vesuvius,  for  it  was 
generally  believed,  from  certain  signs,  that 
an  eruption  in  that  fiery  mountain  would 
soon  display  itself.  Great  alarm  seemed  to 
exist  amongst  the  Neapolitans  on  this  subject ; 
and  they  who  had  property  lying  in  the  di- 
rection it  was  expected  the  burning  lava 
would  take,  were  busily  devising  all  sorts  of 
idle  schemes  for  the  saving  of  it. 

Master  Shakspeare  determined  to  ascend 
the  mountain,  that  his  youthful  charge  might 
see  one  of  the  most  marvellous  of  the  deep 
mysteries  of  nature,  yet  no  sooner  was  this 
known  than  many  friendly  attempts  were 
made  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  The  most 
horrible  accounts  were  given  of  the  danger 
there  mu^^t  be  in  making  the  ascent  at  such 
a  period  ;  added  to  which  there  were  awful 
stories  told  him  of  the  atrocities  of  the  terrible 
Zingano  and  his  band,  whose  haunts  were  in 
the  very  part  of  the  mountain  along  which 
they  must  proceed.  These,  however,  took 
little  effect  on  him.  He  caused  preparations 
to  be  immediately  made  for  attempting  llie 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


143 


ascent ;  and,  in  case  he  might  be  molested 
by  the  brigands,  all  his  party  went  well 
armed,  and,  lor  farther  security,  lie  took 
with  him,  in  addition  to  the  usual  guides,  a 
strong  escort  of  the  town-guard. 

Simon  Stockfisli  appointed  his  new  ac- 
quaintance to  help  him  in  carrying  whatever 
might  be  required  during  the  expedition  ; 
for,  though  old,  he  did  not  look  as  if  he 
lacked  strength,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  sternness  of  his  glance  that  satisfied 
Simon,  in  case  of  danger  he  would  stand  on 
his  defence  right  sturdily.  He  therefore 
was  properly  armed,  and  took  his  place  in 
the  party. 

They  left  Naples,  and  proceeded  in  the 
direction  of  the  burning  mountain.  Master 
Herbert's  governor  very  much  lightening 
the  way  for  him  by  pleasant  and  profitable 
discourse  touching  the  nature  and  history  of 
volcanos ;  thence  proceeding  to  notice  the 
vv-ondrous  mischiefs  they  had  done,  more  es- 
pecially the  destruction  of  the  cities  of  Pom- 
peii and  Herculanoum  by  showers  of  red 
hot  cinders — this  brought  him  to  speak  of 
Pliny  and  his  miraculous  escape  from  the 
terrible  fate  that  overtook  the  inhabitants 
of  thoje  cities,  and  then  he  followed  on  with 
later  eruptions,  eliciting  by  a{)t  questions 
from  the  guides,  full  particulars  of  what  had 
happened  in  their  experience  ;  and  thence 
arose  sundry  narratives  of  the  phenomena 
Vesuvius  exhibited,  descriptions  of  the  de- 
struction caused  by  the  progress  of  the 
burning  fluid,  and  certain  marvellous  es- 
capes of  the  country  people  from  the  scorch- 
ing and  consuming  element. 

There  was  no  great  difficulty  in  passing 
from  this  subject  to  the  brigands,  and  there 
followed  an  abundance  of  stories  of  their 
daring  and  savagcness,  in  which  different 
captains  of  them  were  made  the  heroes  ; 
but,  in  especial,  there  was  great  mention  of 
Zingano,  who,  according  to  all  accounts,  in- 
finitely exceeded  in  audacity,  courage,  and 
fierceness,  the  mo.-t  celebrated  of  his  villa- 
nous  brethren.  Souie  spoke  of  him  as  a 
devil  incarnate,  not  satisfied  with  plunder- 
ing all  who  fell  in  his  way,  he  was  merciless 
as  an  enraged  tiger  to  such  as  he  took  of- 
fence at ;  others  magnifiad  his  prowess  to 
what  was  far  beyond  the  ordinary,  and 
touched  upon  instances  he  had  afforded  of 
succor  to  the  distressed.  Then  came  such 
accounts  of  his  life  as  would  have  sufliccd 
all  the  heroes  of  the  table  round.  No  ro- 
mance was  ever  so  marvellous,  no  ballad 
so  full  of  strange  adventure.  Nevertheless, 
tlio  guides,  one  and  all,  seemed  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  truth  of  the  most  incredible 


of  such  accounts,  and  if  need  were,  would 
have  borne  testimony  of  their  faithfulness. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  appeared  to 
take  but  little  heed  of  these  narratives,  as 
tiiough  he  looked  on  them  as  old  wives' 
fables,  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  a  youth 
of  noble  blood. 

His  worthy  governor  had  marked  this  in- 
differency  to  matters  of  more  moment,  and 
not  without  some  slight  disquietude.  He 
would  put  himself  right  earnestly  to  exalt 
his  scholar's  mind  to  nobler  perceptions. 
With  the  deep  interest  in  him  he  could  not 
help  feeling,  no  wonder  his  councils  souie- 
times,  spite  of  his  efforts  to  conceal  how 
much  his  heart  was  in  his  task,  looked  to  be 
of  a  warmer  character  than  the  situations 
of  the  parties  seemed  to  warrant ;  but  the 
coldness  with  which  such  manifestations 
were  invariably  regarded,  never  failed 
quickly  to  bring  him  back  to  a  proper  state 
of  self-control.  It  was  a  hard  task  for  him  to 
look  on  the  living  image  of  the  noble-hearted 
woman  to  whom  so  large  a  portion  of  his 
best  thoughts  had  been  dedicated,  with  the 
unconcern  of  one  who  hath  but  a  depend- 
ant's interest ;  but  it  was  harder  still  v.'hen 
the  tender  impulses  which  were  struggling 
in  his  breast  made  themselves  visible,  to  find 
them  met  by  the  proud  wondering  of  a 
haughty  spirit  that  considers  kindness  so 
shown  as  savoring  of  nothing  so  much  as  of 
a  presumption  that  he  is  bound  to  check  by 
every  way  in  his  power. 

This  time  the  behavior  of  his  youthful 
charge  had  struck  him  more  powerfully 
than  on  any  preceding  occasion,  but  lie  dis- 
sembled as  well  as  he  might,  and  pursued 
his  way  up  the  mountain,  conversing  in  his 
ordinary  cheerful  manner  with  the  guides. 
The  path  now  began  to  be  a  troublesome 
one,  the  soil  being  composed,  for  the  most 
part,  of  cinders  and  lava,  which  made  an 
exceeding  loose  footing,  so  that  each  one  of 
the  party  was  forced  to  look  carefully  to  his 
own  progress. 

Young  Herbert,  with  an  active  guide, 
lightly  and  rapidly  led  the  way  ;  hi  was  Ibl- 
lowed  closely  by  Master  Shakspeare,  who 
anxiously  kept  up  with  him.  At  a  little 
distance  followed  Simon  Stockfish,  silently 
entertaining  numberless  doubts  as  to  the 
ad\antage  of  all  this  arduous  climbing,  and 
considering  whether  some  fine  stroke  of 
policy  could  not  be  hit  upon  whereby  such 
dangers  as  seemed  most  imminent  might  be 
diverted  from  his  good  master.  Simon  had, 
close  at  his  hand,  the  old  seaman  from  the 
Pink,  carrying  a  basket,  and  though  he 
seemed  to  have  a  friendly  feeling  towards 


144 


THE  SECRET  TASSION. 


him,  lio  dill  not  think  it  necessary  to  com- 
municate his  good  wishes;  and  as  tor  the 
other,  tliere  could  he  little  question  he  was 
in  alike  hiin.or,  for  he  scarcely  so  much  as 
opened  his  mouth  all  the  way.  After  them 
came  other  guides,  and  the  escort  followed 
at  a  convenient  distance.  It  appeared  as 
though  nothing  was  so  plain  as  the  unne- 
cessariness  of  the  latter,  for  there  existed 
not  in  tiie  neighhorhood  tlie  slightest  sign 
of  living  creature  of  any  sort ;  tlie  wild  and 
desolate  scene  would  not  have  accorded  ill 
with  groups  of  savage  banditti,  but  there 
was  no  evidence  of  any  such  thereabouts. 

They  had  climbed  so  far  that  their  near- 
ness to  the  volcano  might  easily  be  judged 
by  the  sulphureous  fumes  that  pervaded  the 
air,  and  by  certain  rumblings  and  shakings 
in  the  belly  of  the  mountain.  At  last  the 
atmosphere  appeared  to  bo  gradually  getting 
darker,  and  the  rumblings  did  so  increase  as 
to  shake  the  ground  beneath  their  feet. 
Whereupon  the  guides  wore  a  monstrous 
serious  aspect,  and  did  atTirm  with  singular 
earnestness,  these  signs  portended  a  speedy 
eruption,  and  that  all  were  in  singular  jeo- 
pardy, from  which  there  was  no  likelihood 
of  escaping,  unless  they  met  with  very  mar- 
vellous good  fortune. 

The  gloomy  color  of  this  intelligence 
i\Iaster  Shakspeare  liked  not  at  all.  But  not 
on  his  own  account  was  it  so  little  pleasing 
to  him,  for  he  was  not  of  a  spirit  to  heed  his 
own  convenience  or  safety  in  a  case  of 
coalmen  danger,  but  he  could  not  help  cer- 
tain uneasy  thoughts  of  thj  inhnite  respon- 
sibility he  had  taken  on  himself  in  leading 
his  young  charge  into  a  situation  so  fraught 
with  peril.  The  life  of  one  in  whom  the 
nature  he  so  devotedly  wor.;hij)ped  seemed 
part  and  parcel,  was  very  far  dearer  than 
his  own,  and  he  trembled  to  think  of  the 
consequences,  sliould  aught  of  evil  befal 
him.  But  Master  Herbert  would  not  hear  of 
any  retreating.  He  treated  the  prognosti- 
cations of  the  guides  as  statements  worthy 
of  no  credit,  and  being  exceeding  curious 
to  see  the  crater,  he  bade  all  push  on  with- 
out an  instant's  loss  ;  and,  attended  by  his 
guide,  briskly  led  the  way.  His  worthy 
governor  followed  with  all  the  speed  possible, 
and  his  faithful  serving-man,  with  his  des- 
perate looking  associate,  did  their  best  to 
keep  near  at  hand.  The  rust  came  stragg- 
ling on  at  their  leisure. 

With  all  the  activity  displayed  by  the 
foremost,  their  progress  was  slow,  and  not 
imattended  with  danger.  Frequenrly  did 
their  legs  sink  so  deep  into  the  hot  cinders, 
their  only  fooling,  that  it  looked  as  if  they 


were  to  be  swallowed  up  in  that  treacherous 
soil.  A  guide  was  engaged  in  pointing  out 
to  the  travellers  the  course  of  the  last  stream 
of  burning  lava  which  had  poured  down  the 
sides  of  the  volcano,  when,  on  a  sudden, 
there  came  a  terrible  explosion,  that  seemed 
to  deafen  all  who  heard  it,  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  shooting  up  from  the  crater  of 
an  immense  pillar  of  burning  stone  and 
ashes,  that  fell  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, in  a  mass  that  would  soon  have  anni- 
hilated a  city.  Presently  this  black  pillar 
turned  into  one  of  fire,  spouting  up  to  an  in- 
measurable  lieight,  in  the  midst  of  which 
were  seen  huge  masses  of  rock  thrown  up 
as  though  shot  out  of  a  great  cannon,  which 
fell  thundering  down  the  sides  of  the  vol- 
cano, splitting  into  fragments  as  they  fell. 

Scarcely  had  this  terrible  eruption  com- 
menced, when  the  leaders  of  the  party  had 
reached  a  sort  of  shelf  or  platform  overlook- 
ing the  crater,  whence  the  fearfullest  sight 
broke  on  them  eye  ever  saw.  The  moun- 
tain, like  an  enormous  monster,  continued 
to  belch  out  immense  volumes  of  tire  and 
flame,  that  reached  a  height  Rt  wiiich  the 
eye  ached  to  follow  it,  and  it  broke  in  a 
resistless  flood  that  went  boiling,  hissing, 
and  scorching  down  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
and  into  the  valley  beneath,  threatening  the 
destruction  of  all  the  orchards,  gardens,  and 
villages  that  lay  in  the  direction  it  was 
taki  ng. 

Master  Shakspeare  could  not  forbear 
shuddering  as  he  remembered  that  a  change 
in  the  wind  might  bring  upon  the  heads  of 
his  party  the  whole  power  of  this  consum- 
ing inundation.  He  could  not  sufficiently 
marvel  at  the  sublimity  of  the  spectacle  be- 
fore him  ;  but,  attractive  as  it  was,  ho 
would  have  given  all  he  was  worth  in  the 
world  to  have  got  his  charge  at  that  moment 
some  fifty  miles  ofl^. 

A  new  danger  threatened  him  much  moro 
imminent  than  the  one  he  had  such  dread 
of,  from  which  there  appeared  to  be  no  es- 
cape. Whilst  all  eyes  were  directed  to  the 
huge  mouth  of  the  burning  mountain  vom- 
iting such  prodigious  volumes  of  fire,  one 
of  the  guides,  in  accents  of  terror,  cried 
out,  "  Zingano!  Zingano  !"  and  all  turning 
at  that  instant,  discovered  a  tall,  stout  ban- 
dit, vvith  a  dark  and  savage  aspect,  well 
armed  with  sword  and  dagger,  pistolet  and 
arquebus,  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  on 
the  same  ledge  of  the  mountain,  whilst, 
from  various  eminences  tiiat  overlooked 
them,  appeared  several  of  a  like  threatening 
appearance,  whose  pieces  were  pointed  at 
them  with  matches  ready,  as  much  as  tc 


TPIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


145 


sav  if  they  stirred  they  were  no  better  than 
so  many  dead  men.  Resistance  was  hope- 
less ;  th?y  had  advanced  so  expoditiousiy  as 
to  leave  their  lagging  escort  behind  tliein, 
at  a  distance  too  far  olF  to  know  the  strait 
they  were  in,  or  to  be  able  to  render  them 
any  assistance. 

Zingano  suffered  not  his  victims  to  have 
much  time  for  reflection,  or  to  mistake  his 
intentions.  With  a  monstrous  loud  and  in- 
solent voice,  he  bade  the  party  deliver  their 
purses  and  all  they  had  about  them  of  va- 
lue, threatening  speedy  dea  h  delayed  they 
a  moment  in  doing  his  bidding.  Had  as- 
sistance not  been  so  near,  they  woukl  have 
been  stripped  at  once  and  carried  off  cap- 
tive, but  the  object  was  to  get  what  booty 
they  could  easiest  obtain  and  quickest  de- 
part with. 

Seeing,  whichever  way  they  looked,  a 
horrible  cut-throat  visage  peering  at  them 
from  the  further  end  of  a  tube,  that  in  a 
moment  or  so  could  put  a  ball  through  their 
heads,  without  a  chance  of  escape,  they  took 
to  getting  ready  what  was  wanted  of  them 
as  speedily  as  was  possible.  Even  Siuion 
Stockfish  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  he  pre- 
pared to  deliver  all  he  possessed,  without 
aiming  at  a  single  stroke  of  policy,  either 
for  his  worthy  master  or  for  himself. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  cry  from  one  of 
their  own  party — or  rather  a  shriek  of  ex- 
ultation such  as  a  savage  Indian  might  be 
supposed  to  make  at  the  sight  of  an  enemy 
in  his  power,  and,  turning  to  whence  it 
came,  how  greatly  did  they  marvel  at  see- 
ing the  aged  seaman  whom  they  had  taken 
from  the  Pink  to  help  them  in  the  ascent, 
leap  before  them  with  all  the  quickness  of  a 
deer,  and  armed  only  with  a  long  knife,  con- 
front the  captain  of  the  bandits.  The  re- 
cognition was  evidently  natural — a  cry  of 
terror,  involuntarily  as  it  were,  burst  from 
the  lips  of  Zingano,  better  known  to  the 
reader  as  Black  Sampson,  as  he  heard  the 
cry  of  "  Blood  !  blood  !"  hissed  into  his 
ears.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  eyes 
which  were  piercing  through  him  were 
those  of  the  old  shepherd,  whose  gallant  son 
he  had  so  ruthlessly  slain. 

With  a  mighty  effiirt  he  suddenly  sought 
to  nerve  himself  for  a  deadly  encounter  with 
his  remorseless  pursuer,  and  swaying  witli 
his  vigorous  arm  by  the  end  of  the  barrel, 
the  weapon  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  sought 
to  crush  him  at  a  blow.  Ere  it  descended, 
however,  the  shepherd  had  leapt  upon  him, 
and  his  knuckles  were  at  his  throat :  then 
commenced  a  most  fearful  struggle — not 
only  from  the  deadly  rage  which  animated 
the  breasts  of  each  with  equal  degree,  but 
10 


from  the  perilous  place  in  which  the  conflict 
was  carried  on. 

They  stood  only  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
spouting  gulf  of  fire,  the  intense  heat  of 
which  became  hardly  possible  to  breathe  in, 
;ind  for  their  footing  they  had  a  loose  soil 
of  cinders  and  lava  that  crumbled  at  the 
slightest  tread.  Nevertheless,  each  looked 
only  to  his  enemy,  thought  only  of  his  ene- 
my, and  in  such  looking  and  tliinking  had 
but  one  object — his  quick  and  utter  destruc- 
tion. No  weapons  were  used,  there  was  no 
time  to  employ  them  ;  it  appeared  as  though 
the  first  thing  sought  was  by  mere  strength 
to  overpower  the  other,  and  then  dispatch 
him. 

The  old  shepherd  had  got  a  good  grip, 
and  he  held  on  like  grim  death.  The  ban- 
dit put  forth  every  muscle  to  free  himself, 
but  with  little  avail,  and  his  companions 
would  readily  have  put  a  bullet  through  his 
antagonist,  did  not  tlie  constant  twisting  and 
turning  of  the  combatants  make  a  sure  aim 
impossible.  Some  would  have  come  to  their 
captain's  assistance,  but  the  leJge  where 
they  stood  was  so  narrow,  from  a  part  of  it 
having  just  given  way,  that  another  could 
not  get  there  without  incurring  a  very  hor- 
rible risk,  and  they  also  thought  that  the 
old  man  was  not  strong  enough  to  be  a  fit 
match  for  their  famous  leader. 

Apparently  without  knowing  it,  they 
were  gradually  nearing  the  brink  of  the 
crater,  the  ashes  sunk  beneath  their  pres- 
sure, and  fragments  of  the  ledge  continued 
to  break  off,  and  fall  into  tiie  fiery  mass 
now  boiling  and  raging  so  av\'fuliy  near 
them.  Still  neither  relaxed  in  his  endeavors 
— neither  thought  of  the  horrors  of  his  posi- 
tion. Each  had  contrived  to  gt^t  one  arm 
fixed  as  in  a  vice  round  the  other's  waist, 
and  the  gipsy  was  intent  on  drawing  the 
other  away  from  the  grasp  it  had,  to  seize 
a  weapon  ;  but  to  keep  such  advantage  ;is 
he  had,  he  whs  fain  to  hold  on  and  continue 
his  fierce  struggling  and  wrestling.  At 
last,  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  he 
snatched  the  dagger  from  his  girdle  ;  b.it  in 
the  very  act  of  uplifting  it,  he  was  carried 
off  his  feet  by  a  tremendous  exertion  of  the 
old  man,  who,  with  a  fierce  siiriek  of  horri- 
ble laughter,  leapt  with  him  in  his  arms  in- 
to the  boiling  flood. 

The  horror-struck  spectators  saw  them 
disappear,  and  the  next  instant  they  rose  a 
whitened  shapeless  mass  in  the  midst  of  an 
enormous  spout  of  boiling  lava,  that  rose 
like  a  fiery  torrent  into  the  sky — then  they 
fell  back,  and  in  a  thought  became  indistin- 
guishably  commingled  with  the  flaming  in- 
gredients in  that  terrific  caldron. 


146 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


By  this  time  the  escort  liad  approaclicil 
so  near,  tiiat  the  companions  of  Zingano, 
terrified  by  the  spectacle  they  had  witness- 
ed, disappeared  as  speedily  as  they  conld, 
but  not  without  one  or  two  shots  being  fired 
at  them,  which,  however,  it  is  believed  did 
no  great  damage.  Tiio  travellers  had  seen 
enough  of  tiie  burning  mountain,  and  no 
one  seemed  disinclined  to  resist  the  wishes 
of  the  leader  of  tiie  party  to  get  back  to  Na- 
ples, before  a  change  in  the  wind  made 
their  fate  scarcely  less  terrible  than  that 
of  the  murderer  and   the   avenger  of  his 


CrL\PTER  XXIII. 

His  countenance  was  a  civil  war  itself, 
And  ail  his  host  had  standing  in  their  looks 
The  paleness  of  the  death  that  was  to  come. 
Ben  Jonson. 

It  was  about  the  midwatch,  in  a  serene 
night,  a  gallant  pinnace  might  have  b-en 
seen  cleaving  her  way  through  the  waves 
of  that  highroad  to  great  adventures,  com- 
monly called  the  Spanish  Main.  To  a  sail- 
or's eye,  she  was  as  fair  a  craft  to  look  on 
as  might  be  seen  anywhere  on  the  wide 
ocean,  bravely  appointed  with  warlike 
stores,  and  manned  with  a  valiant  company 
of  daring  adventurers,  most  of  whom  were 
as  careless  of  life  as  though,  in  their  esti- 
mation, it  was  not  worth  a  pin's  fee.  A 
famous  sight  was  it  to  see  the  good  ship, 
"  The  Little  Wolf,"  careering  over  the 
foaming  billows  that  ofttimes  raised  their 
huge  crests  as  though  to  topple  her  down 
headlong — in  sooth,  it  was  an  admirable 
goodly  sight :  yet  there  were  some  persons 
to  be  met  with  who  misliked  it  hugely  ; 
they  could  not  hear  the  gallant  pinnace  so 
much  as  named  without  being  terribly 
moved,  and  to  get  sight  of  her,  no  matter 
how  strongly  furnished  they  might  be  for 
war,  they  instantly  fell  into  a  deadly  fear. 
These  were  no  other  than  the  Spaniards 
inhabiting  those  coasts,  or  had  occasion  to 
voyage  in  those  seas  ;  and  the  reason  of 
their  monstrous  fear  was,  that  this  same 
ship  was  known  far  and  near  amongst  them 
as  the  terriblest  scourge  to  all  of  their  coun- 
try the  liveliest  imagination  could  conceive. 
The  crew  were  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of 
roaring  devils,  and  their  captain  it  was 
thought  could  be  no  other  than  the  arcli- 
fiend  himself.  Since  she  had  first  appeared 
on  that  coast,  it  was  wonderful  tiie  damage 
she  had  brought  upon  them  ;  the  strongest 
places  and  the  powerfullest  sliips  were  of 


no  avail  against  the  unnatural  fierce  valor 
of  those  on  board  of  her  :  they  were  storm- 
ed and  sacked  in  an  incredible  short  space 
of  time,  and  those  who  attempted  ojiposition 
greviously  hurt,  or  slain  outright. 

This  ca])tain  was  known  on  the  coast  as 
"  the  devil-Englishman,"  England  having 
been  his  birthplace,  as  it  was  reported,  but 
it  was  more  generally  believed  he  was  a 
native  of  a  much  warmer  place  rumor  de- 
scribed after  divers  horrible  fashions  ;  some 
giving  out  that  he  was  infinitely  beyond  the 
ordinary  stature  of  man,  with  a  wild  inhu- 
man countenance,  the  nostrils  whereof  had 
been  seen  to  breathe  fire,  as  several  credit- 
able witnesses  could  testify,  and  that  he 
was  of  a  most  savage  appetite,  loving  to 
pamper  his  delicate  stomach  on  nothing  so 
much  as  a  new-born  babe,  carefully  barba- 
cued  over  a  gentle  fire,  or  tit-bits  from  a 
young  virgin,  daintily  done  in  their  own 
gravy. 

That  he  had  cloven  feet  there  seemed  not 
to  be  any  dispute — nay,  there  was  a  certain 
priest  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  most  moving 
sermon  touching  the  identity  of  the  arch- 
enemy with  this  terror  of  the  Spaniards, 
did  avouch  most  solenmly  that,  when  a 
prisoner  on  board  the  dreaded  ship,  he  once 
came  upon  the  devil-Englishman  suddenlj', 
and  found  him  paring  his  hoofs,  and,  as 
undeniable  proof  of  what  he  stated,  he  im- 
mediately produced  to  his  fear-struck  audi- 
tors a  portion  of  the  infernal  paring  he  had 
then  and  there  secreted. 

Much  more  of  these  awful  accounts 
found  ready  credence  in  those  parts  ;  but, 
although  in  some  points  they  were  exceed- 
ing contradictory,  as  regards  the  courage 
of  the  individual  to  whom  they  related, 
there  seemed  but  one  voice.  Nothing  could 
withstand  his  fierceness :  he  swept  all  be- 
fore him,  no  matter  how  great  the  force,  or 
how  strong  the  defences,  the  whilst  no  hos- 
tile weapon  or  destructive  missile  had  pow- 
er to  do  him  the  least  injury.  Many  a  se- 
rious Spaniard  had  beheld  a  bullet  drop  to 
the  ground,  having  been  flattened  upon  his 
person  ;  and  more  than  one  goodly  rapier 
was  shewn,  the  edge  whereof  quite  turned 
from  having  been  forcibly  thrust  against 
him. 

Of  his  first  appearance  in  those  seas 
there  were  various  legends  ;  but  the  best 
informed  seemed  to  take  on  themselves  to 
say  that  he  began  to  war  against  them  as  a 
person  of  little  or  no  authority,  yet  that  his 
terrible  furious  courage  soon  raised  him 
above  his  associates.  From  a  small  com- 
mand he  quickly  rose  to  a  greater,  and  had 
been  wont  latterly  to  come  upon  thera  with 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


147 


from  one  to  five  or  six  large  ships,  well 
equipped  with  all  manitions  of  war,  and 
with  valiant  and  skilful  crews,  that  took 
all  vessels  coming  in  their  way,  attacked 
the  towns  and  villages  upon  the  coast,  and 
plundered  them  of  v/hatever  of  value  they 
possessed  that  could  be  carried  away,  spoil- 
ing them,  and  doing  them  such  intolerable 
mischiefs,  the  like  had  not  been  heard  of  in 
the  memory  of  man. 

The  men  who  joined  in  this  warfare  were 
known  in  that  part  of  the  world  by  the  name 
of  buccaneers,  from  the  manner  of  curing 
their  meat ;  and  the  chief  of  these,  or  at 
least  the  most  famous  amongst  their  leaders, 
was  now  this  terrible  tierce  captain.  It  was 
said  that  they  were  no  better  than  pirates, 
making  war  without  any  authority,  save 
their  own  desperate  inclinations  ;  but,  let 
them  be  what  they  would,  it  is  certain  they 
were  a  monstrous  evil  to  the  Spaniards  in 
those  seas,  against  whom,  in  especial,  they 
were  exceedingly  implacable. 

They  were  people  of  many  countries  ; 
but  principally  English,  Dutcli,  Portuguese 
and  Moors,  of  tiie  most  adventurous  and 
fearless  sort  the  world  contiined,  who  took 
to  the  high  seas  as  a  road  to  fortune  ;  and, 
though  they  were  ever  in  a  con.>tant  ])eril 
of  their  lives,  they,  for  the  most  part,  man- 
aged to  amass  great  riches,  with  which  they 
that  escaped  after  many  years'  fighting  with 
their  enemies,  returned  to  their  several 
countries,  and  were  ever  after  looked  upon 
as  persons  of  worship. 

These  buccaneers  would  appear  in  the 
Spanish  Main  with  sometimes  one,  some- 
times more  ships  ;  and,  making  a  landing  at 
some  place  on  the  coast,  where  they  knew 
beforehand  they  were  like  to  get,  with  a  few 
hard  knocks,  good  sti>re  of  plunder,  they 
would  steal  upon  the  inhabitants  when  they 
least  expected  thein,  and,  slaying  all  who 
made  opposition,  take  all  the  gold  and  silver, 
and  other  precious  stuff  they  could  lay  hand 
on,  and,  when  they  had  obtained  all  they 
could,  would  get  on  board  and  sail  away. — 
Perchance  they  would  meet  ships  of  the  Spa- 
niards of  equal  or  greater  force  ;  but  these 
they  would  attack,  and,  in  an  incredible  short 
space,  get  the  better  of. 

Such  was  the  marvellous  courage  on 
which  they  entered  upon  their  most  desper- 
ate enterprises,  it  seemed  as  though  there 
was  no  resisting  them.  On  land  or  at  sea, 
attacking  the  strongest  towns  or  the  biggest 
ships,  they  so  rarely  failed  of  destroying  and 
spoiling  their  adversary,  that  many  of  the 
terrified  Spaniards  looked  upon  them  as 
leagued  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  and 
did  utter  or  give  credence  to  the  strange 


tales  concerning   them  and   their  captain, 
such  as  hath  awhile  since  been  mentioned. 

It  was  on  an  expedition  of  this  sort  that 
the  good  ship,  "  the  Little  Wolf,"  was  now 
pursuing  her  course.  She  had  sailed  in 
company  with  two  smaller  vessels  from  the 
general  place  of  assembling  of  these  adven- 
turers in  the  Western  Indies,  but  had  been 
separated  from  them  in  a  tremendous  storm, 
which  drove  her  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds, 
day  and  night,  till  the  crew  were  nigh  spent 
with  watching  and  labor.  Moreover,  the 
water  and  provision  were  found  to  run  short, 
which  greatly  increased  the  discontent.  Of 
buccaneers,  the  common  sort  were,  by  rea- 
son of  their  riotous,  disorderly  habits,  not  ea- 
sily kept  in  any  sort  of  discipline,  and  any 
mischance  or  reverse  of  fortune  they  took 
so  ill,  that  it  was  only  by  great  heedfulness 
on  the  part  of  their  appointed  officers,  they 
could  be  held  in  proper  siibjpction. 

In  the  case  of  the  Little  Wolf  tliey  were 
horribly  dissatisfied  every  one  of  them  :  they 
had  been  so  tossed  about,  they  had  lost  their 
reckoning ;  none  knew  for  certain  where 
they  were,  yet  many  presumed  to  find  fault 
with  the  course  they  were  steering,  and 
murmurs,  and  even  threats,  were  heard 
amongst  the  most  turbulent.  Their  captain 
they  knew  to  be  a  thorough  seaman,  and  as 
brave  a  leatler  as  brave  men  ever  fought  un- 
der ;  nevertheless,  they  were  not  wanting, 
some  amongst  them  who  looked  upon  his 
rule  as  intolerable,  ;ind  were  for  any  change 
by  which  they  fancied  they  could  in  any  way 
better  themselves.  Their  captain  was  strict, 
keeping  every  man  to  his  duty,  and  punish- 
ing sharply  the  slightest  disobediency.  This 
fretted  their  proud  stomachs  monstrously, 
especially  those  who  were  not  of  his  nation. 
They  could  not  endure  such  sharp  handhng, 
and  seemed  only  to  wait  for  an  opportunity 
to  put  an  end  to  it. 

It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  the 
ship  was  proceeding  on  her  way,  as  hath 
been  described  at  the  commencement  of  this 
chapter.  The  watch  had  been  set,  and  in 
general  all  seemed  f  lir  and  orderly,  save  ever 
and  anon  a  burst  of  riotous  merriment  would 
break  forth  from  the  forecastle,  where  it  was 
evident  enough,  of  all  conscience,  a  numer- 
ous party  of  the  crew  were  entertaining 
themselves,  after  their  own  rough  fashion. 
On  the  main  deck,  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  hearing  of  the  revellers,  two  boys  were 
sitting  together  away  from  close  scrutiny  on 
one  of  the  guns.  They  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  manner  especially  sa- 
voring of  confidence. 

"  Nay,  I  like  not  this  seafiiringlife,  Mar- 
tin," said  one,  who,  out  of  all  doubt,  was  no 


148 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


other  than  our  especial  ncqniuntancn,  lazy 
Laiince,  tlie  riiimway  a|)|)rfiitic'e  of  Tabiilia 
Thatchpole,  and  his  coiii|)anioa  was  his 
sworn  fellow  and  loving  friend,  Martin  Poins, 
his  opposite  neighbor.  Neither  kjoked  the 
better  for  their  rash  embracing  of  that  wild, 
adventurous  life  they  had  adopted — the  one 
from  inij  atience  of  the  hard  rule  of  his  se- 
vere mistress,  the  other  that  he  n)ight  siiare 
the  fortunes  of  his  sworn  lover.  Hearing 
there  was  a  ship  of  war  lying  in  the  Thames, 
which  it  was  rumored  was  about  to  sail  for 
the  Spanish  Main,  where  her  captain  had 
already  greatly  signalized  himself  by  his 
valor  and  seamanship,  they  got  on  board, 
volunteered  to  serve  the  captain,  and,  being- 
approved  of  by  him,  they  had  been  ever  since 
sharply  employed  learning  to  tiltil  the  duties 
of  a  sailor. 

"  I  like  not  this  seafaring  life.  Martin.  It 
jumpeth  not  with  my  humor  at  all,"  said 
Launce,  with  marvellous  seriousness  "  I 
wish  very  heartily  I  were  well  back  again 
in  Golden  Lane.  The  cuffs  and  ratings  I 
got  of  that  old  cat  atFordod  fair  entertain- 
ment, in  comparison  with  the  intolerable 
climbings  aloft  for  the  bending  of  sails  or 
some  other  villanous  hard  work,  and  the 
constant  fear  of  my  life  I  am  in  through  the 
terrible  furious  storms  we  have  had  since 
we  left  the  Thames.  Though  I  had  in  Bar- 
bican such  monstrous  abundance  of  hard- 
ships and  ill-usage  as  ever  poor  'prentice 
endured,  I  had  on  an  occasion  no  lack  of 
good  sport,  but  in  the  horrible  case  in  which 
I  am  now  tossed  like  a  cat  in  a  blanket,  on 
the  Spanish  Main,  there  are  no  tailors  at 
hand  to  play  tricks  upon,  or  constables  of 
the  watch,  or  old  women,  or  stray  pigs,  to 
have  any  proper  diversion  with,  or  dogs  or 
cocks  to  set  a  fighting.  There  are  no  late 
passengers  to  pelt  privily  from  the  window 
as  they  pass  unsuspecting  along  the  street, 
nor  a  chance  of  a  stolen  game  of  bowls  as  1 
go  of  an  errand  ;  and,  as  for  a  delectable 
draught  of  tickle-brain  to  comfort  one's-self 
withal,  1  have  as  clean  lost  sight  of  such  a 
thing,  as  though  such  good  liquor  had  vanish- 
ed out  of  the  world." 

"A  hard  case,  o'  my  life!"  exclaimed 
Martin  Poins,  very  gravely.  "  Were  I  you, 
I  would  no  longer  put  up  with  such  grie- 
vous losses,  but  straightway  be  quit  of  the 
good  ship  and  her  company,  and  walk  my- 
self off." 

"  Ah,  there's  the  horrible  mischief  of  it," 
said  the  other,  in  an  exceeding  lamentable 
tone.  "  I  am  like  a  pig  in  a  pound  ; — I 
must  e'en  stay  where  1  am,  whether  I  will 
or  no." 


"  Doubtless  !"  answered  his  associate, 
drily. 

"  If  it  should  be  my  good  hap  to  get  bnck 
to  Golden  Lane,"  added  Launce,  with  a  pro- 
digious show  of  sincerity,  "  i  promise  you 
you  shall  not  catch  me  on  board  a  ship  of 
any  sort,  come  what  will  on't." 

"  Dost  remember  the  famous  words  yon 
gave  utterance  to  when  you  sought  me  to 
join  with  you  in  this  adventure  ?"'  inquired 
Martin.  "  How  hugely  you  comforted  your- 
self with  the  great  store  of  gold  you  were 
to  gain  by  your  assisting  in  taking  of  some 
SpHuish  galleon,  and  how  gallantly  you 
would  conduct  yourself  in  every  desperate 
enterprise,  till  you  had  raised  yourself  to  be 
a  great  captain,  and  how  you  would  marry 
some  king's  daughter  at  the  least,  when  k 
suited  you,  and  in  good  time  succeed  to  his 
wealth  and  kingdom  ?  Dost  remember " 

"  Body  o'  me,  I  am  in  no  humor  of  remem- 
bering of  anything,"  cried  his  friend,  impati- 
ently. "  But,  as  for  Spanish  galleons,  I  wish 
not  lor  their  acquaintance,  for  I  am  told  they 
are  armed  with  guns,  that  do  terrible  exe- 
cution when  they  are  let  off;  and  that  the 
Spaniards  we  are  so  intent  on  spoiling 
have  a  villanous  way  with  them  of  putting 
to  death  ail  of  our  nation  that  fall  into  their 
hands.  Methinks  they  and  their  goods  are 
best  let  alone.  For  mine  own  part,  I  regard 
them  with  no  malice,  and  care  to  do  them 
no  injury.  But,  hush,  what  choice  singing 
is  this?" 

The  two  young  men  listened  attentively, 
and  they  distinctly  heard,  in  a  fine,  manly 
voice,  tolerably  familiar  to  them  already,  the 
verses  which  are  here  set  down  : 

THE  BUCCANEER'S  SONG. 
Come,  seek  with  me  the  bhishing  girls 

That  India's  spicy  islands  hold  ; 
Where  ev'ry  stream  doth  brim  witli  pearls. 

And  ev'ry  rock  doth  burst  with  gold  : 
And  where  soma  overladen  tree, 

Holds  low  its  store  of  j^urple  berry — 
Their  charms  shall  j^rove  our  argosie, 

And  there  we'll  feast  and  live  right  merry 

You  paler  beauties  of  the  south 

May  serve  to  grace  a  gallant's  feast, 
Who's  tasted  not  the  luscious  mouth 

We  find  within  the  burning  East. 
Love  there  a  draught  more  sweet  secures, 

Than  gascon,  muscadine,  or  sherry  : 
Then  make  the  bounteous  vintage  yours, 

Tlicre  take  your  fill,  and  be  right  merry  ! 

"  Doth  not  that,  move  you  ?"  asked  Mar- 
tin Poins,  as  soon  as  the  singer  had  come 
to  a  halt. 

"  'Tis  an  exquisite  song,  o'  my  life,"  re- 
plied Launce,  "  and  I  have  heard  many  sucli 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


149 


from  the  same  singer ;  yet  I  like  him  not, 
Martin." 

"  i\or  do  I,"'  said  the  other,  with  more  se- 
riousness than  lie  h;id  yet  aff 'cted.  "  I 
know  not  what  he  may  have  been  before  he 
soui;ht  iiis  fortune  in  tliis  ship  ;  but  tliere 
seem,  th  to  be  that  in  him  which  smacks  of 
a  better  condition.  Nevertheless,  I  like  him 
none  the  better  fur  it,  for  I  much  doubt  his 
honesty.  I  have  seen  him  laying  himself 
out  very  craftily  to  catch  the  voices  of  the 
worst-disposed  of  the  crew,  particularly  af- 
fecting the  foreigners.  I  cannot  help  fan- 
cying he  harbors  some  ill  design  ;  for  I  like 
not  the  manner  1  ever  find  him  in  corners 
holding  converse  with  all  who  are  known  to 
be  dissatisfied  with  the  voyage." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,  and  very  roundly 
too,  the  captain  is  much  to  blame,"  observed 
Launce. 

"And  so  have  I,  many  times,"  answered 
Martin.  "But,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  from 
the  best  informed  in  such  matters,  nothing 
bitter  could  have  been  done  in  such  stormy 
weather  as  we  have  had,  anJ  I  hugely  sus- 
pect these  grumblings  arc  produced  only  by 
envy  and  j  -alousy,  and  the  like  evil  passions 
in  they  wiio  are  di.-^contented.'" 

"Hush,  surely  this  is  him  coming  this 
way  !"  exclaimed  the  other  ;  "  and  he  being- 
to-night  captain  o'  the  watch,  may  chance 
not  be  well  pbased  to  find  us  loitering  here. 
Let  us  hide  till  he  has  passed  " 

There  happened  to  be  thrown  over  the 
gun  a  large  piece  of  sail-cloth,  to  which 
some  repairs  had  been  made  during  the  diiy, 
and  not  having  been  hnislied,  it  had  there 
been  left  until  it  could  be  thoroughly  mended. 
Under  this,  Launce  and  his  friend,  as  quickly 
as  they  could,  disappeared. 

They  had  scarcely  done  so  when  two  men 
were  seen  approaching  .slowly  towards  the 
place,engaged  in  deep  and  earni'st  discourse. 
One  was  an  Englishman,  a  tall  fellnw  of  his 
his  hands,  with  somewhat  of  a  slouching  gait 
and  with  an  exceeding  dissolute  look.  Donbt- 
le.ss,  this  was  the  person  to  whom  alliisiou 
had  just  been  made.  The  one  with  whom 
he  was  in  company  was  evidently  a  Moor, 
by  his  complexion  and  apparel,  ills  yellow 
eye-balls  seemed  to  gain  additional  ghastli- 
ness  in  the  moonlight,  and  then^  was  trea- 
chery in  every  line  of  iiis  swarthy  features. 
He  was,  like  his  companion,  a  proper  fellow 
of  his  inches,  and  of  an  exceeding  powerful 
frame.  To  look  at  the  countenances  of  these 
two,  and  notice  the  earnest  maimer  of  their 
discoursing,  the  understanding  observer 
might  ivadily  have  suspected  something 
unusually  damnable  and  treacherous  ;  and 
Buch  suspicions  would   soon  have  received 


strength  through  a  little  attention  to  their 
discourse. 

"  1  tell  thee,  Abdallah,  the  plot  cannot  fail," 
observed  the  Englishman,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  approached  the  hiding-p'ace  of  the 
runaway  apprentice  and  his  friend  ;  and 
these  were  the  first  words  they  heard,  but 
they  caught  much  of  what  followed,  the 
conspirators  continuing  to  pace  up  and  down 
close  to  them  on  the  moon  disappearing  be- 
hind a  cloud — "  I  have  got  over  all  but  my 
countrymen,  and  I  can  easily  secure  them 
also,  when  they  discover  there  is  at  least 
three  to  one  against  them.  But  there  is  one 
thing,  without  which  our  chance  of  success 
will  be  little,  even  with  all  the  advantages 
we  possess." 

"  Let  thy  slave  know  thy  pleasure  in  this 
matter,"  answered  the  Moor,  •'  and  doubt  not 
it  .shall  be  as  thy  heart  desireth." 

"'I'he  captain  must  be  made  away  with 
before  any  thing  else  is  attempted,"  said  the 
other.  "  I  know  thy  great  courage,  Abdal- 
lah, and  have  that  confidence  in  thy  discre- 
tion, I  can  entrust  this  important  business 
Oiily  to  tfiy  sure  hand." 

'■  I  have  already  settled  the  proper  execu- 
tion of  it,  O  Compton,"  replied  Abdallah.  "  I 
have  bo  planned,  that  I  can  readily  enter  his 
cabin  when  he  sleeps — my  trusty  blade  will 
do  the  rest." 

'■'  Good  ;  but  when  can  this  be  accomplish- 
ed ?"  inquired  Compton.  "  The  plot  is 
ripe;  I  would  not  have  a  moment  lost. — 
Let  us  burst  forth  before  any  smell  it  out. 
I  would  have  it  done  this  night — ay,  this 
minute, — if  within  the  warrant  of  possibi- 
lity." 

'•  Such  is  thy  slave's  design,"  replied  Ab- 
dallah. "  Our  great  captain  shall  meet  his 
death,  in  his  first  sleep,  this  night." 

"  'J'hat  is  well  thought  of,  Abdallah.  I 
like  the  plan  on  't  marvellously,"  said  his 
companion.  "  The  other  officers  we  can 
dispose  of  more  at  our  leisure  ;  but  prythee, 
noble  friend,  take  good  heed  he  esf^ape  not. 
Remember,  thou  art  to  be  my  lieutenant, 
and  that  a  life  of  sweetest  enjoyment,  with 
exlriustless  hoards  of  Spnnish  gold,  await 
us  when  we  have  got  possession  of  this 
ship." 

"  By  the  beard  of  the  prophet,  I  swear  to 
thee,  he  shall  die  !"  answered  the  Moot. 

Launce  listened  with  very  different  feel- 
ings to  those  of  Martin,  though  both  youths 
were  horribly  astonished  at  the  treachery 
thus  laid  open  to  them.  The  one  felt  as 
though  he  dared  scarcely  breathe,  and  trem- 
bled from  liead  to  foot;  but  the  ether, though 
greatly  alarmed  with  the  immiu'iicc  of  the 
danger,  was  anxious  to  make  some  effort 


150 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  prevent  it.  To  issue  from  his  conceal- 
ment, he  knew  wonld  insure  certain  death, 
if  discovered.  The  arcli-conspirators  woidd 
not  Iiesitate  to  slay  one  who  had  pot  posses- 
sion of  their  \illanons  secrets  ;  and  to  remain 
where  he  was  would  he  to  prevent  all  possi- 
bility of  an  alarm  being  given  in  time  to 
prevent  the  approacliing  massacre. 

Not  an  instant  was  to  be  lost.  Whisper- 
ing to  Lannce  to  remain  quiet  till  his  return, 
Martin  soltly  took  oil"  his  shoes  ;  then,  when 
he  knew,  by  the  retreating  footsteps,  that 
the  backs  of'  the  conspirators  were  towards 
him,  he  raised  the  sail-cloth,  and  crept  away 
i'rom  it  very  cautiously  across  the  path  they 
would  make  in  returning.  When  he  thought 
they  had  got  their  usual  distance,  he  lay 
quier,  and  endeavored  to  still  the  violent 
beating  of  his  heart.  This  was  the  critical 
moment.  Jt  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  ob- 
jects at  a  little  distance  ;  but,  should  the 
moon  appear  wliilst  the  conspirators  were 
approaching,  he  could  not  fail  of  being  de- 
tected. 

He  waited  in  an  agony  of  suspense. — 
Suddenly  tiiey  both  stopped,  and  he  felt  as- 
sured all  was  over  with  him.  To  his  great 
relief,  they  did  not  cease  talking,  and  he 
heard,  with  a  terrible  distinctness,  some  of 
the  details  of  the  murders  that  were  about 
to  be  acted.  At  last  they  continued  their 
paces,  evidently  too  intent  on  their  treason 
to  notice  iiis  closeness  to  tliem.  As  soon  as 
their  backs  were  fairly  turned,  he  again 
commenced  creeping  on  all-fours,  and  so 
continued,  stopping  when  they  approached, 
and  cautiously  proceeding  when  they  re- 
treated, till  he  had  got  himself  out  of  dan- 
ger. 

In  the  meantime,  Lannce  lay  quaking  for 
very  fear.  Ho  would  have  given  all  he  was 
worth  in  the  world,  and  all  he  was  like  to 
be,  from  that  time  forward — his  hopes  of  the 
galleon,  of  being  a  great  captain,  and  of 
marrying  a  king's  daughter  into  the  bargain 
— only  to  have  been  safe  on  his  accustomed 
pallet,  in  the  well-remembered  chamber  in 
Tabitha  Thatchpole's  homely  dwelling. 

How  bitterly  he  lamented  his  folly  in 
quitting  such  a  delectable  spot  as  he  now 
looked  on  it,  and  so  sweet  a  mistress  as  he 
now  considered  the  very  shrewish  Tabitha, 
to  be  in  daily  risk  of  drowning,  escaping 
which  he  stood  in  hourly  fear  of  having  his 
throat  cut !  He  could  have  cried  with  vex- 
ation, had  ho  not  been  well  aware  that  tiie 
slightest  noise  might  betray  him  ;  and  then 
— he  tremb  i'd  from  head  to  foot,  and  dared 
not  think  01   the  peril  he  was  in. 

He  mai  veiled  greatly  that  Martin  Poins 
had   left   him.  and   entertained   intolerable 


fears  that  it  might  lead  to  tlie  discovery  of 
his  concealment — and  there  he  lay  crouched 
up,  like  a  frozen  snake,  expecting  the  very 
horriblest  deaths  in  every  creak  of  the  cord- 
age or  whisile  of  the  wind,  that  sounded 
louder  than  ordinary. 

The  two  conspirators  appeared  to  have 
much  to  say,  ere  they  could  settle  their 
plans  to  their  liking — they  agreed  that  the 
time  for  action  had  arrived,  and  that  the  mu- 
tiny should  break  out  forthwith. 

The  massacre  of  the  captain  and  his  offi- 
cers was  to  be  followed  by  an  attack  on 
those  of  the  English  amongst  the  crew  who 
were  not  disposed  to  join  tliem,  and  then  the 
ship's  course  was  to  be  altered,  and  a  cer- 
tain town  on  the  American  coast,  which 
was  believed  to  be  richly  furnished  and  but 
weakly  guarded,  was  to  be  surprised,  the 
place  sacked,  and  they  who  could  not  ran- 
som themselves  to  be  put  to  death  ;  after 
which,  they  were  to  cruise  on  that  coast 
till  every  man  was  as  rich  as  he  wished  to 
be.  Then  they  were  to  sell  the  ship  and 
her  prizes  to  the  Portuguese,  and  every  one 
return  to  his  own  country,  or  wherever  else 
he  liked,  to  enjoy  his  gains.  At  last,  they 
parted — the  INIoor  going  to  the  captain's  ca- 
bin for  the  purpose  of  murdering  him  with 
his  own  hand,  and  Compton  proceeding  to  the 
rest  of  the  conspirators  to  prepare  them  for 
immediately  commencing  the  attack  on  the 
other  officers  and  men  they  had  determined 
on  getting  rid  of. 

Launce  iieard  their  retreating  footsteps, 
but  he  was  in  so  deadly  a  fear  he  could  not 
dare  to  lift  up  the  sail  to  see  if  the  coast 
was  clear. 

Compton  proceeded  on  his  errand.  Just 
then  the  moon  escaped  from  the  clouds 
which  had  veiled  her  glories,  and  poured  a 
flood  of  soft  light  upon  the  ship  and  along 
the  waves  over  which  she  was  so  gallantly 
floating.  He  glanced  a  sharp  and  eager  eye 
around  him,  and  noted  the  extreme  negli- 
gence of  those  who  kept  watch.  This  au- 
gured well  for  his  plot,  and  he  smiled  exult- 
ingly,  as  he  saw  how  unprepared  tliose  from 
wiiom  he  feared  any  resistance  were,  lor 
the  fierce  encounter  which  was  to  wrest 
the  ship  out  of  their  hands,  to  give  it  into 
his. 

Tills  man  had  been  born  in  a  respectable 
station,  and  was  not  without  parts,  hut  had 
led  so  dissolute  a  life  that  all  his  friends 
had  disowned  )iim,and,  after  committing  all 
manner  of  villanies,  he  had  been  lain  to  go 
to  sea,  to  escape  the  hue  and  cry  sot  for  him. 
In  the  present  expedition,  he  had  boon  al- 
lowed a  small  command,  bin  this  served  only 
the  greater  to  excite  his  huge  ambition. — 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


151 


He  must  needs  be  first  in  the  enterprise  he 
and  his  coinpanions  were  upon,  and,  to  ob- 
tain this  station,  he  cared  not  what  monstrous 
crimes  he  committed. 

He  passed  on  to  the  forecastle,  where  se- 
veral of  the  conspirators  were  waiting  in 
expectation  of  the  summons  that  was  to  set 
them  at  th3  work  of  slaughter.  They  ap- 
peared to  be  carousing,  as  if  they  had  no 
such  thoughts  in  their  heads.  The  English- 
men had  gon3  to  their  hammocks.  This  was 
what  they  had  counted  on,  and  what  was 
wanted  for  the  full  success  of  their  infamous 
designs.  They  now  only  waited  the  appear- 
ance of  their  new  captain  to  break  out  into 
open  mutiny.  Compton  was  seen  approach- 
ing— whereupon  all  started  from  the  places 
where  they  had  heen  sitting  or  lying,  as  the 
case  might  be,  and  hailed  him  as  their  cap- 
tain. 

They  were  a  wald  crew — the  scum  of  all 
nations — each  in  the  manner  of  dressing 
that  best  pleased  his  fancy,  and  all  variously 
armed, — lierce,  unruly  ruffians,  that  had 
lived  by  cutting  purses,  had  abandoned  that 
vocation  for  the  more  perilous  one  of  cutting 
throats,  and  had  t;iken  service  with  their 
captain  from  the  fame  of  his  bravery  and 
success  in  all  his  enterprises. 

"  Now,  my  masters,  to  our  rendezvous  on 
the  quarter-deck  !"  exclaimed  Compton,  ex- 
ultingly — "  and  then  a  sharp  struggle,  and 
the  ship  is  our  own." 

"  Hurrah  for  Compton  !"  answered  the 
mutineers  right  lustily.  "  He  alone  shall 
be  our  captain  ! — Daath  to  all  who  oppose 
him  ! — Away  witli  the  tyrant.  Daring  ! — 
Ho,  for  Spanish  gold,  and  a  free  life  !" — 
And,  with  divers  other  sentences  of  a  like 
character,  in  as  many  different  languages, 
the  mutineers  rushed  in  a  body  towards  the 
quarter-deck,  to  cut  down  all  who  should 
withstand  them,  as  they  sought  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  ship  ;  whilst  another  body  of 
them,  under  the  command  of  the  Moor,  was 
to  murder  the  oflicers  and  seize  on  the  ma- 
gazines. 

On  they  came,  sure  of  gaining  an  easy 
victory  over  their  unsuspecting  messmates  ; 
nor  did  they  discover  their  error  till  they  had 
made  good  their  footing  on  the  deck,  when 
they  were  brought  to  a  speedy  halt,  crowd- 
ed altogether  as  they  were,  by  perceiving 
the  Englishmen  they  believed  to  be  secured 
under  hatches,  with  the  officers  tliey  had 
supposed  to  be  murdered,  drawn  up,  well 
armed,  with  an  evident  intention  of  disputing 
their  further  progress. 

In  front  of  them  was  a  figure,  beneath  the 
fire  of  whose  eagle  eye  the  stoutest  of  them 
quailed.     He  had  not  had  time  to  put  on  his 


doublet,  and  most  of  his  people  were  in  a 
like  predicament,  but  all  had  got  arquebuses, 
or  pistolets,  or  swords,  or  pikes,  or  other  ser- 
viceable weapons  ;  and,  though  greatly  infe- 
rior to  the  mutineers  in  numbers,  they  w-ere 
like  to  make  the  contest  more  doubtful  than 
seemed  agreeable  to  any  of  them. 

The  captain  stood  in  front  of  his  faithful 
followers,  his  brawny  arm  bared  to  his  el- 
bow, with  his  trusty  sword  in  his  hand,  and 
the  other  clutching  a  pistolet  that  was  in 
his  belt.  His  countenance  bore,  in  every 
line  of  it,  the  desperate  valor  which  had 
carried  him  in  triumph  through  so  many 
fierce  encounters.  At  his  side  was  Martin 
Poins,  by  whose  timely  warning  he  had  been 
enabled  to  make  such  arrangements  for  his 
safety  as  we  have  noticed  ;  and,  at  a  conve- 
nient distance,  Launce  might  be  seen,  look- 
ing to  be  in  no  pleasant  plight,  very  desirous 
of  getting  out  of  harm's  way,  yet  not  being 
able  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  where  he  shoula 
be  as  safe  as  he  desired. 

"Why,  how  now?"  exclaimed  the  cap- 
tain, tauntingly,  as  he  noticed  the  surprise 
the  mutineers  exhibited.  '•  By  Gog  and 
Magog,  but  these  are  fine  doings  truly,  ye 
inutineering  dogs  !  Back,  every  one  of  ye,  or 
ye  shall  have  no  better  hammock  this  night 
than  a  shark's  paunch  is  like  to  afford. — 
To  your  duty,  knaves  !" 

"  Down  with  him  !"  cried  Compton,  who 
hoped,  with  liis  superior  force,  to  bear  down 
all  opposition.  "  Behold,  iny  masters,  we 
are  three  to  one,  as  it  is,  and  the  Moor  will 
anon  come  to  our  assistance." 

"  Methinks  you  are  reckoning  woefully 
without  your  host,  ye  thrice  treacherous  vil- 
lain !"  replied  bis  captain.  "Behold  him 
from  whom  you  expect  succor  !"  Compton 
turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  the  other 
pointed,  and,  to  his  extreme  horror,  discov- 
ered tlie  body  of  his  fellow-conspirator,  Ab- 
dallah,  hanging  at  the  fore-yard-arm.  The 
moon  shone  full  on  his  features,  which  were 
convulsed  with  agony,  so  that  he  presented 
an  awful  spectacle. 

Villain  as  he  was,  Compton  was  brave — 
and,  seeing  the  desperateness  of  the  case, 
he  determined  on  not  being  subdned  without 
a  struggle.  Turning  to  his  followers, 
amongst  whom  some  w^ere  already  waver- 
ing, he  cried  out  amain — "  Revenge,  my 
masters  !  revenge  the  noble  Moor  !  If  you 
wish  to  "scape  his  fate,  follow  me,  and  the 
ship  is  our  own.  Down  with  the  tyrant  ! 
Ho,  for  Spanish  gold  and  a  free  life  !"' 

He  was  answered  by  a  loud  cheer,  and 
the  mutineers  rushed,  in  a  body,  on  the  rest 
of  the  crew,  who  came  forward   manfully 


152 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  their  favorite  cry  of  "A  Daring!  a' 
Daring!"  and  a  tierce  and  terrible  tiglit 
ensued.  Tiie  c;iptain  was  attacked  at  once 
by  Coinpton  and  two  of  his  foreign  associ- 
ates, powertul  knaves,  who  singly  seemed 
more  tlian  a  match  for  him  ;  but  one  he 
pis'.oled  on  the  spot,  and  the  other  was 
knocked  on  the  head  hy  Martin  Poins  with 
a  heavy  a.ve,  with  which  he  hiid  armed  liitn- 
self.  Lelt  only  with  the  arch-plotter  to  deal 
with,  lie  set  liimsclf  lo  bring  the  matter  to 
a  sjieedy  ending. 

Compton  was  both  strong  and  valiant, 
and  he  fought  with  t!ie  fierceness  of  a  des- 
perate man,  who  has  set  his  all  upon  a  cast ; 
but  he  had  but  small  chance  against  so 
determined  a  combatant.  Whatever  might 
be  the  degree  of  credibility  attached  to  the 
Spaniards'  estimation  of  him,  certain  is  it 
the  terrible  Englishman  was  invulnerable  to 
his  present  assailant,  and  in  a  few  short 
minutes  his  sword  was  passed,  with  fatal 
effect,  through  Compton's  body.  As  they 
had  already  lo.-t  many  of  tiieir  number  by 
the  tire  which  the  EiigHsh  part  of  the  crew 
assailed  them,  both  Irom  aloft  and  other 
advantageous  places,  directly  they  com- 
menced their  att  ick,  the  fall  of  their  leader 
further  dispirited  the  mutineers  that  they 
began  to  give  way. 

It  was  at  this  critical  moment  that  a 
voice  was  heard  shouting  out  from  the  mast 
head,  "  A  sail !  a  sail  !"  which  appeared  to 
have  quite  a  magical  effect  on  the  crew. 
They  desisted  from  all  show  of  fighting  on 
the  instant.  Due  inquiries  were  presently 
made  ;  and,  on  its  being  stated  that  she  was 
a  Spaniard,  and  like  enough  to  be  the  very 
treasure-ship  they  had  been  so  exceedingly 
desirous  of  meeting,  one  shout  of  universal 
obedience  to  their  leader  broke  forth  from 
them  to  a  man,  the  mutineers  joining  in  it 
more  lustily  than  any  ;  they  acknowledged 
entire  submission  to  his  [ileasure,  endeavor- 
ing to  excuse  themselves  for  their  late  crime, 
on  the  plea  that  they  had  been  worked  upon 
by  designing  villains,  who  sought  to  make 
of  them  the  stepping-stones  to  their  own 
ambition,  and  promised,  with  many  signs 
of  repentance,  that  it  they  were  forgiven 
their  fault  they  would  so  conduct  themselves 
against  the  enemy  as  should  prove  they 
were  not  unworthy  of  being  commanded  by 
so  great  a  captain. 

Captain  Harry  Daring  saw  the  politic- 
ncss  of  agreeing  to  their  request  at  such  a 
time  ;  so,  after  a  brief  admonition,  and  a 
few  sharp  speeches  showing  the  enormity 
of  their  offences,  he  bade  the  wounded  to 
Jjo  lookofl  to,  and  the  dead  to  be  thrown 
overboard,  but  solemnly  vowed  the  Moor 


should  hang  were  ho  was,  as  a  token  of 
the  di.-igrace  of  the  crew,  till  they  had  made 
prize  of  the  Spanish  ship  :  then  he  sent 
them  to  their  several  duties.  'J'his mingling 
of  severity  and  conciliation  had  its  due  ef- 
fect. Every  one  strove  to  do  his  utmost  for 
the  pleasuring  of  his  captain  ;  and  few 
persons,  at  this  moment,  called  to  observe 
the  unanimity  and  extraordinary  diligence 
exhibited  in  every  part  of  the  ship,  could 
have  supposed  that  a  few  minutes  before  it 
had  been  the  scene  of  the  most  desperate 
mutiny. 

Under  the  able  directions  of  the  captain, 
assisted  by  his  officers,  the  good  ship,  the 
Little  Wolf,  was  rapidly  ajjproaching  the 
Spaniard.  At  first,  those  in  the  latter  ap- 
peared to  give  themselves  no  concern,  per- 
chance noticing  how  greatly  superior  was 
their  size,  or  not  taking  the  other  to  be  an 
enemy ;  but  when  they  got  closer  view  of 
her,  and  beheld  her  to  be  no  other  than  the 
terrible  ship  that  had  already  done  their 
nation  such  huge  damage,  they  set  up  all 
their  sails,  and  strove  earnestly  to  escape  as 
speedily  as  they  could. 

The  gallant  leader  of  the  buccaneers  was 
not  of  a  temper  to  allow  so  golden  a  chance 
to  slip  out  of  his  hands,  now,  after  so  much 
watching  and  travail,  he  had,  as  it  were,  a 
hold  of  it ;  for  out  of  all  doubt,  it  was  the 
galleon,  to  intercept  which  had  been  the 
principal  object  of  his  expedition.  Ho  knew 
her  capture  would  enrich  himself  and  all 
his  followers  for  life — she  was  reputed  to 
carry  such  immense  wealth  ;  therefore  he 
made  every  preparation,  not  only  to  overtake 
her  in  her  flight,  but  to  attack  her,  with  all 
his  means  of  offence,  as  soon  as  ever  he 
could  get  within  sfiot  of  her. 

The  Spaniard  was  too  heavily  laden  to 
be  a  good  sailer,  and  therefore  it  was  no 
marvel  the  smaller  and  lighter  vessel  gained 
upon  her  rapidly.  The  decks  were  cleared 
for  action ;  every  man  was  armed  with 
whatever  weapons  best  suited  the  occasion  ; 
ammunition  was  served  out,  the  guns  were 
loaded,  and  the  gunners  standing  by,  with 
matches  lighted,  to  discharge  the  murderous 
missiles  they  contained,  and  all  were  on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectation. 

At  this  time  it  was  Captain  Harry  Dar- 
ing called  to  him  Master  Poins,  and,  after 
much  commendation  of  him  beiTire  all  his 
officers  for  the  good  service  he  had  rendered 
them  all,  presented  him  with  a  purse  of  gold 
to  provide  for  him  in  case  he  should  fall  in 
the  approaching  engagement,  and  named 
him  to  be  a  junior  officer  under  him,  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  amongst  those  whom 
he  had  so  well  served,  he  would  find   a 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


153 


friend  to  realize  his  good  wishes,  in  case  he 
should  be  deprived  of  tiie  power  of  doin^'  so 
himself.  Wliereupon  all  his  chief  officers 
readily  promised  tiiat,  should  any  mischance 
occur  to  their  captain,  whicli  he  hoped  might 
never  be,  they  would  see  that  Martin  Poius 
was  Wfll  cared  for. 

Thus  was  Martin  already,  through  his 
courage  and  prudence,  [laced  on  the  high- 
road to  fortune,  whilst  Launce  looked  only 
to  be  in  a  worse  case  than  ever.  In  the  first 
bruit  of  an  engagement  with  the  galleon, 
wishing  himself  cutfod  and  rated  by  the  un- 
gentle Tabitha  within  an  inch  of  his  life 
rather  than  were  he  was,  lie,  unnoticed  by 
any  one,  stole  away,  and  hid  himself  in  an 
empty  tub  in  the  ship's  hold. 

Tue  report  of  the  Little  Wolfs  great  guns 
spoke  in  a  pretty  loud  voice  that  the  two 
siiips  were  getting  to  be  within  reacli  of 
each  other's  shot.  This  was  answered  by 
the  great  guns  of  the  Galleon,  who,  seeing 
they  could  not  get  awjy,  determined  on 
making  what  resistance  they  could,  and  with 
their  immense  superiority  in  every  way  it 
seemed  probable  to  her  commander  they 
might  su  ceed  in  beating  ofi"  the  buccaneers, 
or  sinking  the  dreaded  vessel  with  their 
heavy  orJiiance.  Tliese  discharges  soon 
began  lo  be  very  brisk  and  lierce  on  both 
sides,  but  the  Galleon  lioating  so  much  high- 
er in  the  water  than  the  pianace,  her  snot 
usually  pitched  clean  over  her,  whilst  on 
the  contrary,  almost  every  time  the  buc- 
caneers lired,  the  shot  wounded  her  enemy 
either  in  the  spars  or  rigyiiig  or  hull,  be- 
sides doing  inhnite  miscliief  upon  her  crowd- 
ed decks. 

The  little  pinnace  all  this  time  came  gal- 
lantly up  to  her  huge  enemy,  and,  after 
pouring  in  a  destructive  broadside,  lost  no 
time  in  grappling  with  her  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  her  by  boarding.  This,  however, 
Was  an  e.xcceding  dithcult  matter  to  accom- 
plish, the  sides  of  the  larger  sljip  rising  up 
before  the  other  liiie  a  wall,  the  decks  being 
guarded  by  nettings,  behind  which  stood  a 
close  array  of  hostile  Spaniards,  pouring- 
down  all  sorts  of  heavy  missiles,  and  shoot- 
ing of  their  pieces  at  their  assailants  as 
fast  as  they  could  load  them. 

The  sight  ot  the  Moor  hanging  at  the 
fore-yard-arm  struck  an  extraordinary  terror 
in  them,  and  doubtless,  with  the  terrible 
reputation  of  the  Devil-Englishman,  made 
their  dcfrfnce  more  weak  than  it  might  have 
been;  for  when  they  found  tiiat  so  deadly 
a  fire  was  kept  U|)on  them  fiom  the  tops  of 
the  Little  Wolf,  that  it  brought  them  down 
by  scores,  and  that  their  enemies  climbed  up 
to  their  decks  witli  the  agility  and  fierceness 


of  wild  cats,  whils  others  dropped  upon  them 
from  the  over-hanging  rigging  of  their  own 
ship,  they  began  to  be  monstrously  dispirited, 
and  gave  way. 

The  confusion  of  Babel  was  nothing  to 
the  uproar  which  existed  in  both  ship-,  the 
one  crowded  with  grandees  of  Sjiauiards 
returning  with  all  their  treasure  from  the 
new  world  to  the  old,  inciting  by  thjir  ex- 
ample and  oratory  the  soldiers  that  were  on 
board  to  guard  the  galleon,  to  beat  back  the 
furious  enemy,  whilst  the  other,  no  less  in- 
tent on  makino^  their  way,  came  on  shouting 
of  all  sorts  of  wild  tumultuous  cries  and 
execrations,  in  divers  languages,  enough  by 
themselves  to  daunt  the  stoutest  hearts. 
Then  interspersedly  were  heard  the  screams 
of  the  women  on  board  the  Spanish  ship, 
the  groans  of  the  wounded,  and  thj  constant 
discharge  of  arquebuses  and  pistolets  mak- 
ing the  most  infernal  concert  that  can  be 
conceived. 

At  last  Harry  Daring,  supported  by  a 
considerable  nLimber  of  his  crew,  made  good 
his  footing  on  the  deck  of  the  galleon.  He 
had  in  his  hand  a  monstrous  battle-axe, 
which  with  tremendous  force  he  swung 
around  him,  crushing  to  the  earth  every 
Sjjaniard  on  whom  it  fell.  Many  a  despe- 
rate intent  was  made  to  bring  him  down, 
but  the  iew  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
survive  them  fled  from  before  his  terrible 
strokes,  crying  out  to  their  fellows  to  save 
themsflves  from  the  Devil  Englishman.  A 
gallant  band  of  Dons,  who  were  evidently 
made  of  the  best  stuti"  their  country  afforded, 
still  kept  up  a  stiff  defence,  supported  by 
the  more  courageous  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Down  with  the  villain  Spaniards  !" 
cried  the  captain  of  the  buccaneers,  with  all 
the  energy  of  his  earlier  days,  as  he  rushed 
forward  to  attack  his  enemies. 

"A  Daring!  A  Daring!"  shouted  his 
men,  now  every  instant  increasing  in  num- 
bers, as  they  threw  themselves  upon  the 
Spaniards.  The  battle  was  fierce,  but 
short.  The  bravest  of  the  Dons  were  cut 
to  pieces,  and  the  rest  fled  or  surrendered  ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  huge  ship  With  all 
her  treasures  became  the  property  of  Harry 
Daring  and  his  crew. 

A  curious  incident  occurred  during  the 
hottest  part  of  the  engagement — tlie  body  of 
tiie  Moor  suddenly  disapfieared,  and  no  one 
knew  where  or  how  ;  but  divers  had  slirewd 
suspicions,  a  person  reputed  to  be  of  a  like 
color  with  him  had  come  and  claimed  his 
own  ;  nevertheless,  I  incline  to  the  opinion 
that  he  was  shot  away  by  some  of  the  great 
onln.iiice  and  fell  into  the  sea. 

Tiie  wealth  found  in  the  galleon  exceed- 


154 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  the  conquerors'  expectations.  Inpots  of 
gold  and  bars  of  silver,  with  heaps  of  coin 
and  plate  be^'ond  all  couiitiiij^,  and  bags  of 
pearls  and  otiicr  precious  stones,  together 
witii  an  incalculable  abundance  of  the  most 
.costly  merchandize,  apjieared  before  them 
till  the  eye  marvelled  there  should  be  such 
wondrous  store  of  riches  in  the  world.  This 
was  all  taken  from  the  galleon  and  placed 
in  the  pinnace,  after  which  the  former  was 
allowed  to  proceed  on  her  voyage.  A  divi- 
sion of  tlie  booty  soon  afterwards  took  place, 
to  the  monstrous  satisfaction  of  every  one 
of  the  crew  of  the  Little  Wolf.  As  Launce 
had  disappeared,  it  was  supposed  he  had 
fallen  in  the  contest;  when,  whilst  his  fast 
friend  Martin,  who  had  behaved  himself 
very  stoutly  throughout  the  fight,  was  la- 
menting his  supposed  loss,  he  crept  from 
his  concealment  so  privily  no  one  knew  he 
had  been  there,  and  now  all  danger  was 
over,  took  care  to  make  it  believed  he  had 
distinguished  himself  amongst  the  Spaniards 
in  a  terrible  heroical  manner. 

Of  the  gallant  Harry  Daring  let  it  suffice 
here  to  say,  that  he  continued  to  be  the 
greatest  scourge  to  the  Spaniards  they  had 
ever  known,  spoiling  them  of  their  sub- 
stance, and  overthrowing  all  their  arma- 
ments, whether  on  land  or  on  sea.  Indeed, 
after  the  taking  of  the  treasure-ship,  his  re- 
putation as  "  The  Devil-Englishman"  was 
more  tierce  than  before.  Amongst  his  own 
men,  he  grew  to  be  in  such  extraordinary 
estimation,  he  had  soon  several  ships  and 
some  thousands  of  followers  of  all  nations 
desirous  of  being  led  by  him,  and-  there 
never  after  was  any  thing  in  the  shape,of  a 
mutiny  attempted  by  any  one  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  sweeter  swan  than  ever  sung  in  Po — 
A  shriller  nightingale  than  ever  blest 
The  prouder  groves  of  self-admiring  Rome. 
'I'Hi;  Return  from  Parnassus. 

She  who  tamed  the  world  tamed  herself  at 
last,  and,  falling  under  her  own  weight,  fell  a 
prey  to  time.  James  Howell. 

Who  that  hath  either  heart  or  brain  can 
walk  unmoved  among  the  vestiges  of  fallen 
greatness  that  attract  attention  on  every 
side  of  that  city  of  cities,  that  birthplace  of 
noble  soldiership,  that  cradle  of  honorable 
freedom,  that  home  of  classic  learning,  that 
seat  of  omnipotent  majesty,  that  altar  of 
true  religion  ;  the  feared,  the  honored,  the 
condemned,    the   classical,  the    venerable 


Rome  ?  Who  can  see  her  crumbling  baths, 
ner  mined  temples,  her  tottering  aqueducts, 
her  prostrate  monuments,  her  shattered  am- 
phitheatres, and  her  desolate,  silent,  and 
choked-up  forums,  without  calling  to  mind 
the  greatness  that  liath  passed  away  ? 
What  a  marvellous  story  is  here  writ !  ay, 
and  what  pregnant  characters  compose  the 
writing  1 — they  are  your  true  hieroglyphics, 
whereof  one  hathMie  meaning  of  a  volume. 

Here  you  shall  have  a  whole  host  of  re- 
collections of  the  infant  colony  strucrolincr 
with  its  neighbors  for  a  mere  existence. 
There  you  shall  gather  as  goodly  a  crop  of 
memories  from  the  Imperial  City  that  gave 
conquerors  and  laws  to  all  the  world.  In 
one  place  the  mind  is  crowded  with  augurs, 
vestal  virgins,  sacrifices,  incense,  and 
hymns,  and  all  the  impressive  worship 
which  of  old  was  offered  up  to  that  more 
powerful  than  creditable  assemblage  yclept 
the  gods  and  goddesses  ;  in  another  it  finds 
room  for  no  less  numerous  a  company  of 
lictors,  centurions,  praeters,  conscript  fathers, 
orators,  philosophers,  and  poets,  and  all, 
whether  of  the  patrician  or  plebeian  class, 
that  belonged  to  the  intelligence  of  the 
Seven  Hided  City  in  its  palmy  days. 

Here  comes  a  gigantic  memento  of  its 
gladiatorial  barbarousness,  there  an  endm*- 
ing  sign  of  its  Apician  refinement.  One 
instant  brings  before  us  the  peaceful  luxury 
of  an  Augustus,  another  the  brutal  d^'sim- 
tism  of  a  Nero.  We  behold  in  every  thing 
presented  to  us  a  series  of  the  noblest  spec- 
tacles the  world  ever  saw.  The  joyful  city 
witnessing  an  ovation  ;  the  infant  republic 
forcibly  carrying  ofi"  from  a  neighbor  st  ite 
such  women  as  suited  them  for  wives  ;  the 
slaughter  of  Csesar  in  the  capitol  ;  Coriola- 
nus  prevented  by  his  domestic  affections 
from  leading  the  Volscians  against  his  un- 
grateful city  ;  Cincinnatus  called  from  the 
plough  to  lead  the  armies  of  his  country 
against  the  enemy;  and  Belisari us,  blind 
and  old,  begging  iiis  bread  amongst  those 
whose  safety  his  talents  and  his  courage 
had  secured. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  rallying  places 
that,  upon  some  remembrancer  starting  up 
— as  could  not  be  avoided,  wander  where 
you  might — gave  occasion  for  a  busy 
throng  of  associations  to  tike  exclusive  pos- 
session of  the  mind.  But  these  are  such 
as  most  prominently  and  frequently  came 
before  the  imagination  of  Master  Shaks- 
peare  in  his  rambles  with  his  beloved  charge 
in  this  antiqiu:;  city.  In  particular,  he  dwelt 
with  exceeding  interest  on  the  story  of  the 
exiled  Coriolanus,  lingered  over  the  tragic 
late  of  the    noble  Cajsar,  referred  to  tlic 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


165 


magnificent  follies  of  the  enamored  Marc 
Antony  witii  the  seductive  Cleopatra,  and 
recalled  the  moving  history  of  the  haugbcy 
Tarquin  and  the  abused  Lucrece,  as  though 
lie  were  never  weary  of  having  tll^m 
brought  under  his  consideration. 

And  on  these  subjects  would  he  dilate  to 
his  young  companion  with  an  eloquence  so 
winning,  that  the  usually  indifferent  youth 
gave  him  all  his  attention,  and  appeared  to 
feel  almost  as  much  interest  for  what  he 
heard  as  he  was  sure  to  exhibit  did  a  pret- 
tier face  than  ordinary  come  within  sight 
of  him,  or  there  looked  to  be  a  horse-race, 
a  religious  procession,  a  mountebank,  or 
any  public  sport  or  show  that  promised 
something  new  or  marvellous. 

Though  my  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  did 
not  lack  ability,  he  was  strangely  delicient 
in  steadines-  ;  and,  notwitiistanding  the  in- 
tinite  painstaking  of  his  worthy  governor 
that,  in  the  strange  cities  they  visited,  he 
should  see  all  that  was  commendable,  and 
know  all  concerning  them  that  was  worth 
the  hearing,  h3  would  frequently  give  him 
the  slip  ;  and  there  was  bi;t  too  good  reason 
for  believing  he  would  at  that  time  be  de- 
voting his  attention  to  objects  the  least  like- 
ly to  afford  him  any  wholesome  knowledge. 

As  his  person  and  countenance  were  sin- 
gularly well  favored,  and  he  dre-sed  as 
became  his  birth,  wherever  he  went,  there 
was  sure  to  h?.  divers  persons  anxious  to 
have  him  in  their  company,  wiiose  society 
could  confer  upon  him  l.ttle  credit.  There 
had  been  already  more  than  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  the  handsome  English  youth  had 
a-tracted  the  attention  of  many  beautiful 
signoras,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being 
as  kind  as  fair  ;  and  at  Naples  the  watch- 
ful governor  had  observed  sufficient  of  the 
willingness  of  his  charge  to  meet  their  ad- 
vances, to  make  him  hurry  away  with  him 
to  Rome. 

Though  the  earnest  affection  with  which 
Master  Shakspeare  regarded  him,  from  cer- 
tain deep  and  powerful  causes,  might  have 
led  him  to  look  on  his  faults  with  extreme 
leniency,  the  promise  he  had  given  to  the 
noble  lady,  whose  vowed  servant  he  was, 
made  him  exceeding  urgent  in  the  proper 
discharge  of  his  duty ;  and,  fearing  he 
might,  if  not  properly  cared  for,  fall  into 
the  hands  of  some  base  adventurers,  whose 
fair  visage  and  goodly  person  were  always 
ready  to  be  put  out  to  pawn  at  most  usu- 
rious interest,  whereof  the  penalty  was  the 
monstrous  infamy  of  the  lender,  he  was 
wondroucly  anxious  to  save  him  from  such 
snares. 

But  in  this  there  was  a  difficulty  of  a 


kind  not  easy  to  be  got  over.  He  cared 
not  showing  too  open  an  iiiterference  with 
the  youth's  inclinations,  as  he  knew  it  was 
like  to  bq  resented  in  such  a  manner — from 
his  grerit  pride  and  high-spiritedness — as 
would  throw  an  insurmountable  obstacle  in 
the  V/ay  of  all  further  leading  of  him  ;  or, 
governed  by  the  excellent  policy  which  says 
that  "  prevention  is  better  than  cure,"  he 
watched  carefully  and  anxiously  to  keep 
out  of  his  way  the  sort  of  dangers  he  had 
most  fear  of. 

Rome  he  tliought  less  dangerous  than  Na- 
ples, where  the  hearts  of  its  fair  inhabitants 
seemed  akin  with  the  combustible  stuff  on 
which  that  gay  city  is  built ;  for  the  monu- 
ments of  antiquity,  and  the  associations 
connected  with  them,  gave  such  abundant 
food  for  the  mind,  that  there  was  scarce  op- 
portunity for  it  to  turn  for  nourishment  to 
those  mischievous  sources  whose  complex- 
ion he  so  hugely  misliked.  In  this  he  judg- 
ed by  the  influence  of  the  place  on  himself. 

He  had  been  furnished  with  letters  that 
insured  him  all  manner  of  courtesies  from 
the  noblest  families,  and  even  obtained  per- 
sonal notice  from  the  sovereign  pontiff ;  but 
these  flattering  favors  had  far  less  attrac- 
tion for  him  tlian  a  companionship  with  the 
mighty  spirits  whose  tombs  or  favorite 
haunts  he  loved  to  explore.  The  charms 
of  music  and  painting  were  placed  before 
him  in  such  perfectness  as  he  had  never 
known  at  any  other  time:  but,  deeply  as 
his  "soul  was  moved  at  hearing  the  won- 
drous harmonies  the  Catholic  Church  so 
well  knows  how  to  use,  and,  as  he  stood 
entranced  before  the  marvellous  W(jrks  of 
art  which  join  their  mighty  forces  in  the 
same  gorgeous  service,  to  him  there  was 
a  music  far  more  touching  in  the  pastoral 
sounds  that  enriched  some  of  the  many 
lovely  landscapes  the  neighborhood  affords, 
and  his  eye  was  fed  continually  wherever 
he  went,  with  pictures  painted  with  a  truth, 
a  force,  and  a  beauty  no  mortal  painter 
ever  yet  could  boast  of.  The  song  of  the 
herdsman  or  the  muleteer,  a  chorus  of  vine- 
dressers, or  the  jingle  of  a  rude  gittara,  to 
which  a  score  or  two  of  merry  feet  were 
tripping  it  in  artless  measure,  had  more 
charms  for  him  than  the  sweetest  airs  of 
Palestrina ;  and  a  young  girl  offering  her 
heartfelt  devotions  befbre  a  rude  statue  of 
the  Virgin  in  one  of  the  public  streets,  a 
sunset  scene  from  the  terrace  of  any  of  the 
suburban  villas,  or  a  moonlight  on  the  Ti- 
ber, gave  him  scenes  which  neither  Ra- 
phael, nor  Titian,  norall  the  schools  of  Italy 
together,  could  ever  come  up  to. 

It  was  in  that  gigantic  ruin,  known  as 


166 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  Coliseum,  that  Master  Sliakspoare,  with 
his  young  ciiarge,  wore  standiufjf,  lost,  as  il 
were,  in  utter  astonisliineut,  with  tlie  faitli- 
ful  Simon  in  attendance,  who,  if  one  might 
judge  from  his  looks,  Wi.s  in  as  liugo  a  won- 
der as  either.  The  sunhght  streamrd  upon 
the  desolate  amphitiicatre.  investing  its  pic- 
turesque details  witii  a  beauty  almost  magi- 
cal to  look  on.  'I'iie  eye  of  the  poet  re- 
garded those  broken  arches  wiih  a  double 
consciousness,  the  actual  and  the  ideal  : 
first  it  embraced  the  wondrous  picture  of 
desolation  they  presented — the  stains  of 
time,  the  rank  verdure,  and  the  influence  of 
many  centuries  of  neglect,  laying  on  tints 
and  perfecting  Ibrms  that,  combined,  gave 
the  image  of  antiquity  in  her  most  majestic 
garment ;  gradually  this  faded  away,  and 
the  glorious  fragments  made  one  more  glo- 
rious whole ;  and  the  wondrous  wreck  dis- 
played a  more  marvel'ous  perfectness. 

Tier  above  tier  became  thronged  with 
earnest,  anxious  countenances,  in  countless 
variety  and  with  well-detined  grade  ;  the 
humble  plebeian,  the  haughty  patrician,  and 
every  class  and  dignity,  from  the  most  ab- 
ject of  the  citizens  up  to  the  highest  officer 
of  the  state — consul  or  emperor,  as  the  case 
might  be  ;  whilst  below,  to  whom  the  uni-  i 
versal  gaze  was  directed,  there  raged  a 
fierce  combat,  perchance  some  of  the  very 
savagest  denizens  of  the  forest  against  each 
other — the  fell  rhinoceros,  the  cruel  tiger, 
the  raging  lion,  the  terrible  hippopotamus, 
and  the  majestic  elephant ;  or  mayhap,  with 
one  or  other  of  these  horrible  monsters,  a 
man  should  be  matched,  and  so  he  dares 
the  unequal  combat,  armed  only  with  a 
short  sword,  whilst  among  the  multitudi- 
nous host  above  there  exists  an  awful  si- 
lence, as  deep  as  that  of  one  in  a  trance.  Or, 
it  may  be,  public  gladiators  are  set  to  try 
their  strength  and  skill,  among  tnemselvcs, 
after  divers  fashions  of  fighting,  and  blood 
flows  like  water,  and  there  is  no  lack  of 
gaping  wounds,  crushed  bones,  and  bruised 
limbs  ;  and  the  shout  of  the  spectators  rises 
like  a  ourst  of  mountain  thunder,  as  he  who 
hath  the  skill  or  good  fortune  to  survive 
this  monstrous  butchery,  steps  forward  ihe 
acknowledged  victor  of  the  day. 

On  this  fantasy  the  mind  of  the  poet  lin- 
gered till  all  sense  of  existing  things  seem- 
ed absorbed,  and  all  attention  was  concen- 
trated upon  this  fearful  leaf  in  the  mighty 
volume  ot  the  past.  How  deoj-ly  his  noble 
heart  was  touclicd  by  the  outrage  on  human- 
ity it  so  forcibly  exhibited,  abler  pens  than 
mine  mu.st  seek  to  show.  But  to  one 
taught  in  that  most  ancient  of  free  schools, 
nature,  tlie  humiliating  reflections  which 


could  not  but  arise  from  it  must  have  cloth- 
ed his  spirit  with  a  bitterness  the  natural 
sft-et'tness  of  his  disposition  could  scarce 
render  endurable. 

.I'^'or  after  the  exulting  mind  has  been  tra- 
cing the  imposing  signs  and  tokens  of  Ro- 
man greatness,  from  what  small  beginnings 
a  brave  and  enlightened  people  became 
fzreat  and  free,  triumphed  over  the  barba- 
rian, and,  for  his  loss  of  freedom  he  knew 
not  how  to  keep,  conferred  the  blessings  of 
civilization  he  would  soon  learn  how  to  ap- 
preciate, how  terrible  is  the  shock  that  fol- 
lows a  closer  inspection,  when  it  is  discov- 
ered that  the  cement  wliich  held  tfgetlier 
these  immortal  monuments  is  comj-osed  of 
the  blood  and  tears  of  tortured  and  degraded 
manhood  !  Roman  freedom,  Roman  great- 
ness, Roman  glory,  raise  them  on  their 
towering  pedestals,  and  then,  behold  !  the 
whole  fabric  is  built  up  of  the  basest  sla- 
very, the  vilest  meanness,  and  the  saddest 
degradation,  that  ever  weighed  down  the 
aspiring  soul  of  man  since  the  gates  of 
Eden  were  first  closed  against  it. 

On  this  theme  the  intelligent  mind  of 
Shakspeare  was  wondrous  busy  ;  and.  after 
he  had  found  sufficient  entertainment  in  the 
impressions  it  received,  he  bLthouglit  him  of 
his  duty  to  his  young  companion,  and  ad- 
dressed him  in  a  marvellous  moving  speech, 
full  of  fine  scholarship,  and  finer  wisdom, 
touching  the  difference  of  false  greatness 
and  true  ;  and,  like  another  Cicero,  he  spoke 
high  and  Ic'arnedly,  distinguishing  tlie  gen- 
uine claims  the  Romans  have  on  the  res- 
pect of  posterity  for  the  many  signs  that 
have  been  preserved  of  a  surpassing  intel- 
lect, from  the  fictitious  demands  that  have 
been  so  prouiinently  brought  forward  to 
obtain  an  immortal  admiration,  lor  causes 
purely  physical. 

Young  Herbert  listened  as  though  he  had 
forgot  he  was  my  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir, 
and,  which  was  of  no  less  consequence,  as 
if  he  had  not  seen  at  Naples  an  exquisite 
fair  face,  that  had  haunted  his  young  fancy 
with  the  glow  of  a  perpetual  sunrise.  He 
v\  as  not  entirely  inditierent  to  the  force  of 
classic  examples,  and  the  scene  and  the 
sentiments  that  so  naturally  and  Ibrcibly 
arose  out  of  it  touched  him  somewhat. 

He  began  to  ask  questions  which,  in  the 
result,  was  like  unto  one  beginning  to  dig 
in  a  soil  abounding  with  treasures,  every 
ellort  was  so  singularly  productive  of  ster- 
ling truths  :  and,  pleased  with  his  acquisi- 
tions, he  grew  more  inquisitive  and  more 
eager  to  obtain  a  greater  sum  of  that  profit 
which  was  repaying  his  exertions  a  hun- 
dred-fold.    Ey   his   inquiries  his  governor 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


157 


was  led  to  draw  a  compirison  between 
heathen  and  Christian  Rome  ;  between  the 
Cajsars  of  the  one,  and  the  Popes  of  the 
other  ;  between  the  invincible  arms  of  the 
Roman  warrior,  and  the  abst/liite  ascenden- 
cy of  the  Romisli  priest ;  and,  in  the  paral- 
lel, divers  new  and  striking  illustrations 
were  produced.  A  family  likeness  seemed 
to  run  in  the  heathen  Caesar  Caligula  and 
the  Holy  Catholic  Caesar  Borgia :  a  great 
similitude  was  showed  betwixt  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  classic  soothsayer,  and  those  of 
the  Christian  dispenser  of  Indulgences ; 
and  the  same  love  of  dominion,  which  ar- 
rayed the  Roman  phalanx  against  every  ap- 
pearance of  independence  in  othar  coun- 
tries, was  proved  to  be  observable  in  the 
policy  which,  from  time  to  lime,  influenced 
the  occupant  of  the  papal  chair  in  its  rela- 
tions with  foreign  states. 

But  here  the  parallel  ended,  and  the  most 
positive  contrast  commenced.  The  former 
trussed  to  obtain  their  ascendency  over  the 
rest  of  the  world  by  physical  means,  and 
conquered  by  force  of  arms  ;  whilst  the  lat- 
ter relied  on  a  moral  force  only,  as  a  means 
of  subjection,  and  maintained  a  despotic 
sway  over  every  part  of  the  civilized  globe 
by  force  of  opinion. 

Then  the  speaker  went  on  to  show  that 
this  opinion,  in  modern  Rome,  bore  the  name 
of  religion,  and  it  was  produced  in  a  man- 
ner best  suited  to  answer  its  desired  end. 
All  things  whatsoever  that  could  most  at- 
tract and  subdue  the  senses,  either  as  a 
source  of  gratification  or  one  of  fear,  were 
jiressed  into  the  service  of  the  successors  of 
the  ancient  sovereigns  of  Rome.  With 
this  object,  art  was  appealed  to  as  an  auxil- 
iary of  the  most  powerful  character  ;  and  the 
painter,  the  sculptor,  the  architect,  and  the 
musician,  were  taught  to  put  forth  all  their 
excellences  to  assist  in  subduing  the  Cath- 
olic world.  How  ably  they  fulftlled  the  pur- 
port for  which  they  were  devoted,  it  did  not 
require  a  journey  to  Rouie  to  ascertain, 
though  undoubtedly  there  it  might  be  learn- 
ed in  more  perfectness  than  elsewhere  ;  and 
if  the  Julius  Caesars  of  the  pontifical  chair 
had  been  satisfied  with  an  authority  based 
on  such  means,  they  need  not  have  been 
very  harshly  condemned ;  but  they  sought 
to  establish  a  despotism  with  more  ex- 
ceptionable weapons — the  terrible  thunders 
of  the  V'atican,  the  dreaded  whispers  of  the 
Inquisition,  torture,  injustice,  tyranny,  and 
sui)erstition,  were  employed  upon  human 
conscience,  as  with  an  intention  of  binding 
it  forever  in  the  humiliating  bonds  of  credu- 
lity and  ignorance ;  and  then  it  became  a 


question  whether  the  state  of  heathenism  or 
Catholicism  were  the  most  desirable. 

But,  as  Master  vShakspeare  eloquently 
proved,  the  parallel  became  again  destroyed. 
The  world  grew  more  enlightened,  and  con- 
seqiiently  less  tolerant  of  mental  bondajre, 
and  each  succeeding  century  found  modi-rn 
Rome  lessening  its  pretensions  to  a  power 
equal  to  that  which  existed  in  the  ancient  city; 
and  now  it  possesses  neither  mental  nor  phys- 
ical energy  sufficient  ta  keep  a  creditable 
place  among  the  states  of  the  civilzed 
world.  An  emasculated  race,  who  are 
slaves  to  the  m.ost  lamentable  ignorance, 
pride  and  self-conceit,  bear  the  dreaded 
name  of  the  Conquerors  of  Carthage,  and 
if  any  one  individual,  to  whom  it  now  be- 
longs, obtaineth  any  sort  of  celebrity  in  for- 
eign countries,  you  shall  find  him  no  greater 
character  than  a  bigoted  monk,  who  hath 
not  a  thougiit  beyond  his  breviary;  a  skil- 
ful limner,  whose  whole  soul  is  in  his  paint- 
pots  ;  or  a  fair  composer  of  madrigals, 
whose  highest  philosophy  is  drawn  from  an 
exact  application  of  his  mi  sol  re. 

They  have  lost  all  that  was  Roman  but 
the  name — valor,  glory,  and  all  the  nobler 
qualities  of  honorable  manhood  are  depart- 
ed ;  and  in  their  place  there  is  nought  but  the 
subtlety  of  the  fox  and  the  venom  of  the  ser- 
pent— a  fierce  hatred  of  liberal  thoughts  and 
institutions  —  and  the  most  degrading  ob- 
servance of  solemn  fooleries,  unmeaning 
self-abasements,  and  contemptible  decep- 
tions. 

But  the  utterer  of  these  strictures  was  of 
too  great  a  soul  to  omit  the  mention  of  what 
was  in  any  way  of  a  worthier  nature  than 
what  hath  just  been  set  down,  and  he  did 
ample  justice  tu  the  piety,  charity,  humility, 
and  wisdom  that  characterized  many  of 
these  unwarlike  descendents  of  the  heroes 
of  Roman  history  ;  nor  did  he  pass  over  the 
merits  of  those  illustrious  men  who  had 
made  Rome  the  metropolis  of  art.  It  can- 
not be  supposed  that  he  vvho  was  the  first 
and  noblest  of  artists  should  fail  in  appre- 
ciating those  ideas  of  the  grand  and  the 
beautiful  which  the  Roman  painters  had 
expressed  in  such  immortal  characters,  as 
in  their  frequent  visits  to  the  most  famous 
galleries  and  churches  of  Rome,  Master 
Herbert  and  his  governor  had  witnessed; 
far  from  it — the  latter  showed  how  much 
more  Catholic  was  the  religion  of  Raffaelle 
than  that  of  Leo ;  and  how  much  nearer 
heaven  were  the  labors  of  Michael  Angelo 
and  Sebastian  del  Piombo,  than  were  tiiose 
of  the  College  of  Cardinals,  or  the  Society 
of  Jesus. 


158 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


If  the  palette,  then,  miijlit  bo  allowed  to 
stand  in  place  of  the  sword,  the  painters,  at 
least,  were  wortiiy  of  their  origin;  and  if 
the  influence  they  maintained  was  peaceful, 
it  was  more  valuable,  pleasing,  ennobling, 
and  enduring,  than  that  obtained  by  their 
ancestors  with  so  vast  a  cost  of  injustice 
and  bloodshed.  They  admirably  upheld  the 
honor  of  Rome — they  had  triumphs  worthy 
of  rivalry  with  any  which  were  gloried  in 
throughout  the  rejoicing  streets  of  the  an- 
cient city — and  tliey,  be  it  remembered  to 
their  everlasting  credit,  had  no  Coliseum. 

This  was  not  uttered  without  some 
searching  questions  from  the  speaker's  com- 
panion, who  seemed  to  listen  with  more  than 
ordinary  attentiveness  and  satisfaction  ;  but 
the  humor  was  only  a  little  less  transient 
than  usual,  and  as  soon  as  his  curiosity  was 
sufficiently  gratified,  he  moved  off  to  where 
Simon  Stockfish  was  reclining  at  his  ease, 
diligently  employed  in  providing  for  imag- 
inary evils  that  7mght  visit  him,  by  subtle 
strokes  of  policy  such  as  would  do  credit  to 
the  exceeding  gravity  of  his  turn  of  mind, 
and  was  soon  deeply  engaged,  with  the 
faithful  old  servitor,  in  carrying  on  some 
business  of  his  own,  as  little  creditable  as 
profitable. 

Whilst  the  youth  was  thus  employed,  his 
tutor  returned  to  the  luxury  of  his  own 
tlioughts,  which,  in  the  first  moment  of  lei- 
sure, took  the  following  complexion. 

THE  ADDRESS 

OF  A  FAITHFUL  SERVANT  IN  A  FAR-OFF  LAND 
TO  A  MOST  GRACIOUS  MISTRESS. 

The  ever-rolling  seas  in  vain  divide 
Two  separate  natures,  such  as  do  exist 

In  that  pure  shiine  where  thy  fond  wishes  hide, 
And  this  poor  lieart,  who  hath  such  'vantage 

miss'd  ; 
For  I  thus  differ  from  the  egotist, 

Who  his  dear  self  in  ev'ry  thing  doth  see — 

Whatever  I  behold  is  full  of  tliee. 

Therefore,  nor  time,  nor  space,  availeth  much, 
Thine  image  is  so  constant  in  mine  eyes ; 

For  here  thou  liv'st  in  ev'ry  thing  I  touch  : 
I  meet  thy  gaze  in  these  ftalian  sliies, 
I  hear  thee  in  these  glorious  harmonies. 

That  fill  with  marvellous  praise  each  holy  place, 

And  find  thy  smile  on  each  Madonna's  face. 

If  from  the  presence  of  the  Past  I  turn, 
And  live  mid  relics  of  an  antique  time. 

Where  temple,  bust,  or  monumental  urn, 
Bring  back  the  classic  ages  in  all  its  prime, 
III  glory  infinite,  in  grace  sublime  ; 

Go  where  I  will,  consider  what  I  may. 

Signs  of  thy  nobleness  start  forth  straight-.vay. 


Perchance,  some  crumbling  column  rears  on 
high 
The  remnant  of  a  glorious  architrave  ; 
Or  matchless  Torso  'witching  every  eye. 
With  shape  such  as  God's  noblest  creatures 

have. 
Doth  my  especial  wonder  seem  to  crave — 
Where  'tis  most  admirable  there  doth  dwell 
That  quality  in  which  thou  dost  excel. 

But  e'en  the  statue  most  divinely  bright. 

The  proudest  structure  of  our  proudest  days. 

The  fiirest  picture  ofTered  to  man's  siijht  ; 
In  brief,  whatever  marvels  art  could  raise. 
Can  never  take  one  atom  from  thy  praise. 

There  is  no  chance  'gainst  such  o'erwhelming 
odds — 

They  are  man's  masterpieces — thou  art  God's  I 

Yet  in  such  perfectness  as  they  possess. 
For  thee  they  bear  triumphant  evidence, 

Which  in  my  pleadings,  dwelt  on  more  or  less. 
So  well  establishf'S  thine  excellence, 
A  verdict  for  thee   must    be    drawn    from 
thence  : 

Making  a  precedent  of  such  import. 

Who  deems  it  ill  should  be  put  out  of  court. 

How  then  can  I  from  thee  be  separate. 
Did  nought  express  a  closer  likelihood  ; 

But  when  mine  eyes  take  in  thy  goodly  state. 
Clothed  with  the   tempting  worth  of  flesh 

and  blood, 
Of  thee  I  am  so  thoroughly  imbued. 

So  filled  with  thy  sweet  self,  in  heart  and  soul. 

We  stand  confessed  a  just  harmonious  whole. 

But  were  this  but  a  shadowy  fantasy. 
Bred  of  ih'  imagination's  rank  conceits, 

I  should  allow  it  here  less  readily. 

The  understanding  no  such  mockery  meets, 
I  see  thee  not  in  visionary  cheats  ; 

Thy  honest,  tangible,  and  occular  grace, 

Presenis  itself  before  me  face  to  face. 

Seeing  thy  living  image,  1  enjoy 

The  profit  of  thy  pleasant  neighborhood. 

And  ev'ry  step  of  time  I  do  employ 
In  storing  up  the  admirable  good 
Thou  dost  dispense  in  such  a  gracious  mood : 

I  see   thee,  hear   thee,  touch  thee,   and   from 
thence 

Sight,  hearing,  touch,  assume  a  threefold  sense. 

But  who  shall  set  aside  fate's  stem  decree  ? 

Zeu-xis  his  painted  grapes  poor  birds  did  not 
More  hugely  disappoint  than  thou  poor  me 

In  the  fac-simile  which  thou  hast  got ; 

Thou  irndest  me  a  most  unhappy  lot ; 
Like  him  who  sought  a  goddess,  pressed  a  cloud, 
I  find  the  robe  of  Love  become  his  shroud. 

Cold  slighting  looks,  and  high   and  haughty 
tones, 
IndilT'rence  rude,  and  careless  disrespect, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


159 


Sharp  questions,  and  some  few  uncivil  ones, 
And  wild  extravagances  passed  uncheck'd — 
Tenants  at  will,  thai  Time  will  soon  eject  ; 
These  are  but  sorry  solace  for  the  lack 
Of  that  which  Memory  only  can  bring  back. 

Yet  hath  that  solace  some  sweet  gift  withal. 
Some  [ileasaiu  power,  some  profitable  end  ; 

The  contentation  it  affords  is  small, 

Still  doth  it  oft  a  wondrous  comfort  lend! 
It  speaks  of  that  incomparable  friend, 

Whose  image  charges,  wheresoe'er  it  lies, 

Th'  unkindest  thoughts  with  kindliest  properties. 

Therefore  can  never  obstacle  divide, 

Nor  contrary  thing  oppose,  nor  time  delay. 

The  sweet  communion  that  niust  now  abide 
All  tests,  all  chance,  without  change  or  decay. 
That  betwi.xt  thee  and  Isliall  from  this  day 

Live  wheresoever  I  take  up  my  rest, 

Making  the  cursedest  thing  appear  most  blest. 

One  of  those  gorgeous  assemblages  of 
the  countless  religious  orders  that  throng 
the  Seven  Hilled  City  liad  passed  througli 
its  chief  thoroughfare,  witli  banners  and 
cruciiixes,  and  images,  and  proudly  decora- 
ted prelates,  and  monks  in  humbler  garb, 
but  not  less  lofty  spirit,  and  incense-bearers 
making  the  air  rich  with  frankincense,  and 
choristers  filling  it  with  stately  harmony, 
which  occasioned  tlie  assembling  of  vast 
numbers  of  idle  Rotnans  and  curious  stran- 
gers, who  drop[)ed  on  their  knees  a.s  the  pro- 
cession passed,  many  of  whom  affected  a 
marvellous  degree  of  devotion  and  rever- 
ence, and  others  no  small  extent  of  surprise 
and  wonder. 

The  chanting  of  the  priests  was  begin- 
ning to  be  inaudible  in  the  distance,  when, 
in  a  certain  open  space,  over  which  those 
lioly  men  had  passed,  there  was  formed  a 
circle  of  the  good  people  who  had  but  a  mo- 
ment since  been  so  greatly  edified  by  the  im- 
pressive spectacle  tliat  had  been  presented 
to  them,  who  were  as  busily  engaged  in  re- 
garding tlie  graceful  attitudes  and  marvel- 
lous tricks  of  a  party  of  Bohemian  dancers 
and  jugglers,  as  though  the  sight  had  clean 
put  out  of  their  mind  the  sacred  one  which 
had  immediately  preceded  it.  Of  the  exliib- 
itors  there  were  two  men  of  monstrous  sin- 
ister-looking aspect,  who  flung  brazen  balls 
into  the  air,  and  sliarp-pointed  daggers,  one 
after  another,  and  did  catch  thein  with  a 
dextrousness  that  was  a  wonder  to  behold. 

Their  audience  looked  on  as  much  amazed 
as  delighted.  Presently  one  took  to  swal- 
lowing a  sword,  and  the  other  to  eating  fire, 
as  though  he  were  a  salamander,  and  the 
faces  of  all  present  seemed  bewildered  with 
the  beholding  of  sights  so  strange.     Anon 


one  seized  a  rude  chair,  strong  and  heavy, 
and  seated  on  it  a  young  boy  of  their  com- 
pany, exceedingly  well  favored,  though  he 
had  a  roguish  look  withal,  then  placed  it  on 
his  head,  balanced  on  one  leg.  wliere  he 
kept  it  as  he  walked  about,  picking  up  a 
certain  number  of  eggs  from  the  ground,  the 
boy  the  whilst  looking  about  him  uncon- 
cernedly cracking  of  nuts,  as  though  he  had 
the  securest  seat  in  the  world.  After  this 
he  took  his  comrade  by  a  linen  fastening 
round  his  loins,  and  fixed  it  between  his 
teeth,  and  so  carried  him  round  the  circle. 
These  tricks  were  also  regarded  with  the 
hugest  astonishment. 

But  the  most  pleasing  sight  of  all,  was  a 
woman  of  the  same  company,  of  a  beauty 
the  most  ravishing  eye  ever  dwelt  upon,  and 
attired  very  temptingly  after  the  Moorish 
fashion,  who,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
small  drum  decorated  with  silver  bells, 
which  she  struck  and  shook,  and  cast  about 
her  in  every  graceful  motion,  danced  the 
Roinalis  or  gipsy  dance  in  so  moving  a  fash- 
ion, that  the  gazer  seemed  to  look  on  in  a 
manner  entranced.  Truly  the  swimming 
eyes  and  pouting  mouth,  and  the  eloquent 
motions  of  the  Bohemian,  were  enough  to 
warm  the  current  of  a  man's  blood  had  it 
flowed  less  sluggishly  than  it  doth  in  Italian 
veins. 

There  was  in  her  appearance  such  a 
mingling  of  the  ripe  Hebe  with  the  joyous 
Bacchante,  that  a  Roman,  even  of  the  clas- 
sic age,  would  have  felt  her  influence.  Her 
dance  was  a  sort  of  hymn  in  motion — an  in- 
vocation in  pantomime  to  the  winged  ur- 
chin, who,  with  his  marvellous  keen  ar- 
rows, is  wont  to  cause  such  sharp  wounds 
in  every  one  that  hath  part  and  parcel  with 
humanity — in  the  which  every  twirl,  and 
every  bend  of  that  voluptuous  body,  every 
wave  of  those  delicate  arms,  every  spring 
of  those  elastic  feet,  each  glance  of  those 
subduing  eyes,  and  each  smile  from  that 
provoking  mouth,  were  examples  of  poetical 
meaning,  such  as  even  the  rarest  masters  of 
the  poef's  craft  seldom  reach.  There  seem- 
ed an  intense  ecstacy  of  animal  enjoyment 
breathing  all  around  and  about  her,  evident 
not  only  in  the  flashing  of  her  soft  dark  eyes, 
but  in  the  saucy  wantonness  of  her  raven 
hair,  and  in  the  expressive  buoyancy  of  her 
most  seductive  limbs. 

Perchance  the  reader  would  fain  have 
some  acquaintance  with  this  very  delecta- 
ble, sweet  creature,  but  he  must  needs  here 
be  reminded  that  she  is  not  so  complete  a 
stranger  to  him  as  it  would  appear  ;  he  hav- 
ing already  enjoyed  the  exquisite  pleasure 
oflier  company,  when  our  grave  young  stu- 


160 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


dent  of  medicinp,  John  Hull,  ;vml  his  polite 
serving-man,  Siiiion  Slocklish,  wore,  hugely 
against  th.-ir  wills,  made  inmates  of  a  i;ip- 
sy  encampment,  when  on  their  way  to  Lon- 
don. 

Jn  sober  honesty,  this  wondrous  dancer  in 
the  public  street-!  of  Rome  was  no  other  than 
the  very  you  tilt  ul  companion  of  Black  Samj)- 
son,  as  he  was  tiien  called,  the  kingol  such 
of  the  wandering  outlaws  as  were  to  be 
found  in  England  ;  and  the  strong,  sturdy- 
looking  urchin,  who  so  bravely  looked  froiu 
his  perilous  seat,  was  the  same  admirable 
fair  child  for  whose  existence  she  felt  herself 
so  deeply  indebted  to  the  skill  of  our  young 
physician. 

The  life  of  this  matchless  dancer  had  been 
at  every  step  the  sport  of  fortune — she  had 
gone  through  numberless  adventures  of  the 
most  extraordinary  character.  It  was  be- 
lieved, when  very  young,  she  had  been 
found  in  a  Moorish  barque,  that  had  been 
captured  on  t!ie  coast  of  I3arbary,  by  the 
crew  of  a  Spanish  ship,  the  captain  of  which 
had  sold  her  to  an  ancient  grandee,  who  had 
her  taught  all  feminine  accomplishments, 
and  brought  her  up  in  the  closest,  strictest 
retirement,  in  a  strong  castle  in  Andalusia. 
All  went  on  fairly  enough  with  the  Don,  till 
about  tliirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age,  the 
ripening  beauty  of  his  interesting  purcliase 
induced  him  to  double  his  attentions,  and 
treble  his  vigilance.  The  old  gallant  strove 
earnestly  to  win  his  way  to  her  heart ;  and 
just  as  he  was  beginning  to  congratulate 
liimself  on  the  favorable  result  of  his  exer- 
tions, the  astounding  intelligence  was  con- 
veyed to  him  that  the  inco.nparable  Dona 
Xariqna  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Whether  he  hanged  the  Duenna  who  had 
charge  nf  her  is  not  known,  but  certain  is  it, 
that,  whilst  he  was  employing  his  vast  re- 
sources to  recover  what  he  considered  a 
treasure  far  more  valuable,  she  v/as  being 
conveyed  from  the  nearest  port,  in  the  good 
ship,  '•  Endeavor,"  of  Bristol,  by  a  famous 
tall,  well-favored  young  fellow,  that  looked 
a  prince  at  the  least,  and  this  lie  was  most 
assuredly,  for  he  was  a  prince  at  the  least 
sort  of  estimation. 

He  belonged  to  the  royal  tribe  existing 
amongst  that  wandering  people,  so  general- 
ly spread  over  Europe,  under  the  several 
names  of  Eoheiiiians,  Rommanee,  Egyptians, 
gypsies,  and  Zincali  ;  and,  though  born  and 
brought  up  in  England,  he  had  joined  some 
daring  smugglers  on  the  coast,  v.ho  traded 
with  Spain.  Whilst  pursuing  his  adven- 
tures in  the  country,  he  had  got  sight  of  the 
Don's  de.'^tined  mistress,  and,  struck  wilii 
her  exceeding  loveliness,  had,  in  a  manner 


no  less  daring  than  ingenious,  carried  her 
olF  from  the  garden  of  the  castle  It  must 
be  acknowledged,  that  the  youthful,  nay,  al- 
most childish  Xariqua,  got  wonderfully  soon 
reconciled  to  the  change,  from  a  particular- 
ly crabbed,  ill-favored  old  lover,  to  one  as 
remarkably  young  and  comely  ;  and  on  their 
landing  in  England,  she  made  no  obj  clion 
to  be  married  to  him,  according  to  the  cere- 
monies of  his  tribe,  to  which  about  the  same 
time  he  was  elected  to  be  king,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  decease  of  his  predecessor  in 
the  royal  dignity,  in  a  somewhat  unregal 
way  at  Tyburn. 

She  soon  made  herself  mistress  of  the  arts 
and  mysteries  practised  by  the  females  of 
the  strange  people  with  whom  her  life  was 
now  to  be  passed  ;  and,  though  her  partner, 
from  the  violence  of  his  passions,  did  not 
make  her  the  best  of  husbands,  she  made 
him  a  model  of  a  perfect  gi'od  wife  down  to 
the  very  day  of  his  so  terrible  death,  sharing 
in  all  the  hazirds  of  his  dangerous  way  of 
living  with  a  fearlessness  and  devotion  wor- 
thy of  a  better  oliject.  After  she  was  leP; 
a  widow,  still  young,  still  of  ravishing  love- 
liness, she  was  prevailed  on  to  turn  her  at- 
tractions and  the  accomplishments  she  had 
been  taught,  to  some  account.  Therefore, 
she  made  part  of  an  exhibition  which  certain 
of  the  Bohemians  got  up  about  this  time,  and 
acted  from  lown  to  town,  whilst  their  equally 
active  confederates  contrived  to  ease  the 
wondering  spectators  of  whatever  valuables 
they  had  about  them  that  were  accessible  to 
their  light  fingers. 

As  her  charms  were  set  off  to  the  great- 
est advantage  by  her  picturesque  dress,  and 
her  dancing  v>-as  exceedingly  animated  and 
graceful,  after  the  Bohemian  fashion,  where- 
ever  she  appeared  she  gained  no  lack  of  ad- 
mirers, on  whom  she  never  failed  to  levy 
contributions,  often  gaining  from  them  some- 
thing additional  by  practising  for  their  edifi- 
cation the  science  ot  palmistry. 

La  Xariqua  became  celebrated,  through- 
out more  than  one  of  the  Italian  states  ;  and 
her  witcheries  turned  the  heads  of  all  the 
gallants,  and  also  of  men  of  graver  sort, 
wlio  might  be  expected  to  have  been  insen- 
sible of  such  follies.  Rumors  on  this  point 
had  got  abroad,  to  the  prejudice  of  divers 
holy  lathers  of  tlie  church,  which  had,  more- 
over, come  to  the  ears  of  their  superiors, 
who,  though  they  looked  to  be  horribly 
shocked  at  such  scandals,  were  secretly  as 
much  enamored  of  the  beautiful  Bohemian 
as  their  humbler  brethren.  Her  a])pearance 
in  the  Holy  City  caused  quite  a  stir,  both 
amongst  clergy  and  laity ;  and  although, 
I  generally,  she  was  spoken  of  as  a  creature 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


161 


worthy  to  be  worshipped  of  all  men  living, 
it  chinced  that  she  was  made  the  sabjectof 
co:nia3nt  in  another  and  toLuliy  diiierent 
quarter,  which  boded  her  no  good. 

Ainoag  liie  most  enraptured  of  those 
whom  slie  had  gathered  roimd  her  in  Rome 
at  this  time  was  a  youth,  who  looked  on 
with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes,  to  appearance 
fairly  bewitciiod  by  a  scene  so  exquisitely 
seductive.  The  emotion  he  exhibited  did 
not  escape  the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  dancer — 
neither  did  his  noble  visage  and  admirably 
formed  figure ;  for,  from  beneath  her  long, 
dark  lashes  she  ever  and  ano.i  shot  at  him 
such  glances  as  set  his  heart  in  a  tlame  in  a 
presently. 

It  so  chanced,  during  the  performance  of 
the  Romalis,  that  she  was  e.vertmg  herself 
to  the  very  utmost  to  outrival  all  sbe  had 
previously  done,  and  the  admiration  of  the 
surrounding  crowd  approached  to  a  frenzy  ; 
the  enticing  scene  was  put  a  stop  to  by  the 
sudden  apparition  of  two  mysterious  tigures 
in  sombre  robes  that  entirely  enveloped  tiieir 
persons,  who  pushed  through  the  circle,  in 
which,  with  looks  of  mingled  awe  and  terror, 
all  fell  back.  They  made  tiieir  way  to  the 
fascinating  Bohemian,  whom  each  seized 
by  an  arm,  and  placing  the  fore-linger  mys- 
teriously on  the  lip,  began  to  drag  her  away. 
At  seeing  this,  all  her  enraptured  adnirers 
slunk  away  in  every  direction,  without  dar- 
ing so  much  as  to  look  behind  them,  aud 
none  seemed  inclined  to  stay,  save  a  few 
ili-looking  knave.i,  who,  out  of  all  doubt, 
were  her  companions,  and  the  youth  whose 
intoxicating  dream  had  been  .so  rudely  dis- 
turbed. He  seemed  at  first  to  marvel  hugely 
at  the  appearance  of  the  two  mysterious 
figures  taking  i'.  to  be  a  part  of  the  per- 
formance ;  bat  when  the  cries  and  struggles 
of  the  dancer  convinced  him  her  seizure  was 
an  act  of  violence,  his  rapier  flew  out  of  his 
scabbard  on  the  instant. 

Tlie  crowd  had  by  this  time  entirely  dis- 
appeared. The  youth  rusiied  after  the 
struggling  Xariqua,  sharply  calling  on  those 
who  were  hurrying  her  along  to  loose  their 
hold  of  her  if  they  desired  to  live.  They 
])aid  no  manner  of  heed  to  him,  but  con- 
tinued to  hurry  away  their  terrified  prisoner. 
He  was  upon  them  sword  in  hand,  when 
froai  a  neigliboring  portal,  there  came  upon 
hiui  unawares  two  or  three  armed  men,  by 
whom  he  would  infallibly  have  been  slain 
or  taken  captive,  hid  it  not  happened,  that 
almost  as  quickly  after  rushed  hastily,  from 
an  opposite  direction,  a  gallant,  who  ranged 
himself  on  his  side.  The  contest  lasted  not 
long,  for  the  Bohemians,  vvitii  weapons  of 
various  sorts,  so  bestirred  themselves,  that 
U 


the  beginners  of  the  fray  were  speedily 
either  suvtched  on  the  ground  widi  grievous 
wounds,  or  running  for  their  lives  with 
what  speed  of  foot  they  had.  La  Xariqua 
was  rescued  out  of  their  hands,  and  soon, 
by  the  contrivance  of  her  associates,  beyond 
all  fear  of  recapture. 

It  was  but  a  short  hour  after  this  occur- 
rence that  the  youth,  and  the  friend  who 
had  cometohisassistance,  were  with  a  single 
attendant,  pursuing  their  way  out  of  Rome 
as  fast  as  fleet  horses  could  carry  tliem. 
The  younger  of  the  two  was  no  otiier  thin 
the  E  irl  of  Pembrokes  heir,  who  had  given 
his  comp.iiiion  the  slip  whilst  examining 
some  of  the  many  marvels  of  the  City  of  the 
Caisars  ;  and  the  other  was,  of  course,  his 
wtirtliy  governor,  wiio,  as  he  came  upon  the 
spot,  and  beheld  the  danger  with  which  his 
charge  was  menaced,  could  do  no  less  than 
hasten  to  his  assistance.  But  when  he 
came  to  learn,  as  he  shortly  did,  that  Mas- 
ter  Herbert  had  provoked  an  attack  trora 
the  Pope's  guards,  by  endeavoring  to  rejcue 
a  sorceress,  then  in  charge  of  the  messen- 
gers of  the  Holy  O.fice,  he  knew  there  was 
no  longer  any  satVty  for  either  of  them 
within  the  Papal  States. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

And  with  that  word  she  smiled,  and  ne'erthe- 

theless 
Her  love-toys  still  she  used,  and  pleasures  bold, 

Fauifax. 

The  treacherous  Millicent,  by  the  exer- 
cise of  that  craft  with  which  she  was  so 
eminently  gifted,  was  now  in  a  fair  way  of 
seeing  all  things  settled  as  ^he  would  have 
them.  She  perui  ided  her  young  friend  and 
coniidant  that  the  desirable  ;t  thing  on  earth 
would  be  a  marriage  with  her  faiher  ;  and, 
by  dint  of  working  on  her  vanity  and  pride, 
of  which  she  had  no  slight  share,  got  iier  to 
see,  in  a  union  with  one  thrice  her  age,  only 
famous  braveries,  money  at  command,  and 
t!ie  covetable  situiticm  of  mistress  of  a  fine 
mansion.  Her  consent  was  obtained,  and 
a  day  fixed  for  tins  May  and  December 
union;  when  it  was  also  settled  sho.dd  take 
place  the  marriage  of  Millicent  and  Leon- 
ard. 

At  first,  when  his  mistress  urged  him  to 
complete  his  contract  with  her,  for  which 
she  failed  not  to  give  him  good  and  sufncieiit 
reasons,  he  seemed  s.imewii.it  taken  by  sur- 
prise, as  not  only  had  he  long  given  up  all 
idea  of  such  a  thing,  but  he  had  seen  what 


162 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


had  assured  him  of  his  fellow-student's  at- 
tachment, whose  true  friend  ho  held  idmself 
at  this  time,  and  would  have  been  right  glad 
to  have  furthered  his  happiness  in  any 
honest  way.  This  friendly  inclination  of 
her  destined  husband  towards  her  lover  it 
was  her  policy  now  to  destroy,  as  she  saw 
it  would  be  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
the  success  of  her  line  scheming;  where- 
upon sl;e  set  about  to  poison  his  mind  with 
dark  hints  and  discreditable  insinup.lions  of 
and  concerning  his  friend's  integrity,  and, 
to  give  suthcient  color  to  these,  slie  read 
letters  from  John  Hall  to  herself,  which 
proved  incontestibly  that  he  vv^as  not  such 
as  he  took  him  to  be. 

Concerning  of  these  letters  it  is  sufficient 
here  to  state,  that,  though  Leonard  was  al- 
lowed to  recognize  the  handwriting,  he  had 
no  means  of  comparing  the  passages  read 
with  what  was  written,  and  entertaining  no 
suspicion  of  deceit,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
she  should  easily  have  passed  off  on  him 
what  was  entirely  her  own  invention,  for 
the  handwriting  of  John  Hall. 

Leonard  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  fall  into 
the  humor  of  one  whom  he  had  allowed  to 
govern  him  as  she  listed.  Yet  it  was  long 
before  he  could  reconcile  himself  to  what 
he  looked  on  as  the  violent  e.xtinguishingof 
his  fellow-student's  ha  ppiness.  In  due  time, 
by  the  constant  artilices  of  the  crafty  Milli- 
cent,  the  estrangement  was  complete.  Leo- 
nard's habitual  indolence  and  indecision 
were  taken  advantage  of,  and  John  Hill 
every  day  became  less  and  less  cared  ior. 
Indeed,  as  it  usually  happens  with  those 
who  wrong  their  fellows,  Leonard  felt  dis- 
posed ere  long  to  look  on  John  Hall  as  one 
possessed  of  the  absolutest  unworthiness 
ever  hsard  of. 

But  how  fared  the  young  physician  all 
this  while  ?  How  took  lie  the  intellicrence 
his  mistress  artfully  conveyed  to  him  of  her 
being  forced  against  her  wish  to  complete 
the  betrothal  of  so  long  standing  ?  Of  a 
truth  it  came  on  him  like  a  thunder-clap. 
He  had  allowed  himself  so  completely,  in 
consequence  of  licr  conduct  to  him,  to  lose 
sight  of  any  such  engagement,  that  he  could 
not  now  bo  brought  to  tolerate  it  in  any  man- 
ner. It  was  a  most  moving  sight  to  see  the 
tears  which  chased  down  her  cheeks,  and  the 
passionate  fondness  of  her  bearing  and  lan- 
guage, when  this  accomplished  dissembler 
informed  her  lover  of  her  father's  tyranny 
in  insisting  upon  her  immediate  marriage 
with  one  she  liked  not. 

No  man  who  has  ever  devotedly  loved 
could  reconcile  himself  to  another's  possess- 
ing his  mistress ;  and  the  heart  of  John  Hall 


was  too  completely  given  up  to  tlie  seduc- 
tive Millicent  to  be  easily  drawn  into  an 
abandonment  of  his  claim  upon  her.  Her 
representations  were  marvellous  powerful, 
and  his  nature  was  exceedinr  yielding. 
Nevertheless,  though  he  did  not  in  any  way 
dispute  the  marriage,  in  heart  and  soul  he 
loathed  and  detested  it. 

From  the  first  hour  he  heard  of  the  ar- 
rangement he  became  a  different  being.  A 
slow,  consuming  fever  preyed  upon  him — ■ 
his  fle.sh  fell  away — he  could  endure  no  em- 
ployment— he  could  enjoy  no  gratification. 
He  confined  himself  to  his  own  chamber, 
where,  hour  after  hour,  he  sat  at  the  table 
with  an  open  book  before  him  ;  but  the  page 
was  never  turned,  and,  though  the  eyes 
dwelt  on  it,  they  took  in  nothing  of  its 
meaning.  His  thoughts  were  directed  else- 
where, but  kept  themselves  to  a  most  con- 
tracted circle  ;  for,  oppressed  by  a  sense  of 
his  own  misery,  they  seemed  to  have  no 
energy  to  get  beyond  it. 

Tlius,  day  after  day  passed  by,  he  getting 
weaker  and  weaker,  his  cheek  more  trans- 
parent, his  look  more  haggard,  and  a  settled 
despair  seemed  stamf.eJ  upon  his  visage, 
with  a  sharpness  that  expressed  death  in 
every  line.  No  one  came  near  him  but 
Millicent,  who  used  some  arguments  to  con- 
sole him,  but  they  were  not  understood ; 
and,  if  they  had  been,  they  would  not  have 
afforded  the  sufferer  any  consolation  ;  and, 
the  caresses  she  continued  to  heap  ujion  him 
he  received  as  one  in  a  delirium  takes  a  drug 
that  is  to  give  him  present  composure. 

The  night  before  the  wedding-day  arrived, 
and  whether  her  bad  heart  was  touched  by 
the  youth's  uncomplaining  but  most  eloquent 
misery,  or  she  had  a  bad  purpose  in  view,  in 
which  her  heart  was  not  concerned,  is  not 
known  ;  but,  most  assuredly,  she  sat  up  the 
whole  of  that  night  with  him :  all  which 
time,  by  every  word  and  deed  most  convinc- 
ing, she  let  liim  know  that  he  was  beloved 
by  her  as  no  other  ever  could  be.  He  seem- 
ed moved  by  her  affectionateness,  and  clung 
to  it  with  all  the  wild  fervor  of  one  who 
knows  he  hath  before  him  his  only  stay. 
The  excitement  which  this  produced  bel 
came  at  last  two  powerful  for  his  enfeebled 
frame,  and,  towards  morning,  he  sunk  into 
a  stufior. 

It  was  full  noon,  on  that  eventful  day, 
before  the  \ndia|)py  youth  recovered  to  a 
perfect  consciousness.  He  felt  more  than 
ordinarily  weak  and  feeble,  but  he  mechani- 
cally rose  and  made  his  morning  toilet  as 
usual.  He  noticed  that  his  customary 
breakfast  was  prepared  for  him,  but  he 
touched  it  not.     He  went  to  the  casement. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


163 


and  marvelled  greatly  to  see,  by  the  shidow 
of  the  sun  on  the  opposite  lioiise  how  late  it 
was  in  the  d.iy. 

His  thoughts  were  strange  and  discon- 
nected. Now  he  was  witli  his  mother  in 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  hearkening  to 
her  sweet  counsel ;  anon,  he  was  engaged 
with  such  profitable  company  as  Celsus  and 
Hippocrates,  in  tiie  familiar  seat  under  tlie 
old  walnut  tree  ;  in  a  moment  he  vv:i.s  in  the 
tent  of  the  gipsv  girl,  restoring  her  child  to 
life,  and  directly  after  he  was  no  less  de- 
lightfully listening  to  Master  Shakspeare's 
admirable  converse  in  his  well-remembered 
lodging  in  the  Clink  Liberty. 

in  short,  his  thoughts  went  from  one 
thing  to  another  with  no  settled  purpose, 
travelling  hither  and  thither,  yet  carefully 
avoiding  home.  He  dared  not  think  of  her. 
He  strove  all  in  his  power  to  avoid  recall- 
ing to  his  mind  anj'thing  which  would  bring 
the  business  of  this  intolerable  day  before 
him.  Nevertheless,  do  what  ho  would,  he 
frequently  found  himself  approaching  the 
dreaded  subject.  He  walked  about  his 
chamber,  countinp-his  strides  as  he  proceed- 
ed :  and  when  he  tired  of  that,  he  leaned  out 
of  the  casement  and  watched  the  sparrow 
flitting  about  the  oaves,  and  the  smoke  of 
the  chimneys  curling  up  till  it  disappeared 
in  the  blue  sky. 

The  day  seemed  to  be  of  a  monstrous 
length.  He  ardenily  longed  for  it  to  end, 
but  every  minute  had  to  him  the  durati-n  of 
the  most  tedious  hours.  He  was  struck 
with  the  extraordinary  quietness  of  the  liouse. 
In  directing  his  attention  to  this,  the  know- 
ledge of  why  it  was  so  rushed  upon  him 
with  a  force  that  overthrew  all  his  precau- 
tions. Millicent  was  gone  to  church  ! — by 
this  time  she  was  another's  !  and  doubtless 
they  were  all  making  merry  every  one  with 
another  ;  and  wliile  he  was  in  the  extremity 
of  his  misery,  hovering  over  the  brink  of 
very  madness,  the  more  fortunate  Leonard 
was 

As  his  mind  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ex- 
quisite sweet  happiness  of  his  rival,  there 
seenied  to  him  to  come  a  sudden  wliirhvind, 
which  crushed  the  walls  of  the  chamber  in 
ripon  him  on  every  side,  and  making  a  feeble 
clutch  at  the  chair  on  which  he  had  been 
leaning,  he  fell  in  a  deadly  swoon  on  the 
floor. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  state  he 
never  knew,  for  several  weeks  elapsed  be- 
fore he  recovered  the  facultiss  of  a  reason- 
ing being,  and  then  he  was  lying  on  his 
pallet  as  feeble  as  a  child,  with  an  entire 
oblivion  of  all  that  had  been  done  to  him 
during  that  interval,  and  all  the  wild  rav- 


ings and  monstrous  extravagances  he  had 
then  exhibited.  But  he  had  not  been  dis- 
covered till,  on  the  return  of  the  wedding- 
pirty  from  their  day's  pleasuring,  MiUicent 
stole  up  to  his  chamber  hurriedly. 

If  ever  contrition  touched  her  cold,  selfish 
heart,  one  would  have  fancied  it  would  have 
been  now  ;  but  her  sole  ob.ect  was  her  own 
security,  and  for  this  only  she  looked  to  his 
wants,  and  nursed  him  throughout  his  dis- 
order. She  feared  that,  despite  her  fine 
scheming,  her  treachery  might  be  made  vi- 
sible, and  albeit  her  influence  over  her  new 
made  husband  was  none  of  the  weakest,  it 
was  possible  a  knowledge  of  her  infamous 
behavior  he  might  receive  in  a  fashion  htile 
to  her  liking.  She  obtained  assistance  in 
which  she  could  trust,  and  the  malady  of 
John  Hall  began  at  last  to  assume  a  more 
favorable  character. 

In  especial,  the  young  stepmother  of  his 
treacherous,  hilse  mistress,  was  untiring  in 
her  at'entions,  and  showed  a  moretlum  ordi- 
nary kindness  in  every  thing  she  did.  He 
felt  gratefully  disposed  towards  her,  for 
her  exceeding  friendliness  at  such  a  time, 
and,  noting  his  thankfulness,  set  her  to  make 
herself  still  more  agreeable.  She  had,  by 
this  time,  learned  the  true  value  of  the  po- 
sition into  which  she  had  b-^en  cajoled— she 
saw  the  sacrifice  that  had  been  made  of  her 
— and  was  at  no  loss  to  discover  for  whose 
sole  advantage  she  had  been  thu-;  infamously 
bartered.  Her  mind  was  of  a  most  limited 
capacity,  but  it  was  large  enough  for  ven- 
geance, and  it  became  the  business  of  her 
life  to  study  some  sure  way  of  obtaining  it. 

She  sympathised  with  him,  and  denounc- 
ed the  unprincipled  conduct  of  her  quon- 
dam friend,  wliose  whole  proceedings  she 
gradually  placed  before  him  in  their  proper 
hght.  He  shrank  from  believing  her  state- 
ments, but  she  returned  again  and  again  to 
the  charge,  supporting  her  accusations  by 
proofs  there  was  no  questioning. 

Loath  as  the  lover  always  is  to  believe  ill 
of  the  woman  he  loves,  he  cannot  resist,  for 
any  long  time,  insurmountable  evidence, 
unless  he  be  wilfully  blind.  Our  young 
physician  was  wondrously  moved  at  the  in- 
formation he  had  received,  and  felt  much 
inclined  to  upbraid  the  crafty  Millicent  for 
the  infamousness  of  her  proceedings ;  but, 
on  her  next  making  her  appearance,  the 
consummate  hypocrisy  of  her  bearing,  and 
the  influence  of  old  impressions,  drove  him 
from  his  purpose,  and  he  let  her  take  her 
departure  as  though  she  were  still  the 
matchless,  spotless,  admirable  fond  creature 
he  had  so  long  been  used  to  consider  her. 
But  when  she  was  gone,  and  her  confidante 


1G4 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


returned  to  him  with  fre<h  instances  of  her  '  her  jjlace,  and  came  round  to  him,  when  she 
falseiiood,  he  ajraiii  rct^oivi'd  to  cliaroc  her    jnesently  put  heT  arm  round  his  neck,  as  of 


with  it,  and  break  oil'  all  intimacy  for  tlie 
future. 

He  was  now  sufficiently  recovered  to 
leave  his  chamber;  and,  as  he  h;id  of  late 
been  schooling  himsell'  to  meet  the  wonran 
of  whom  he  had  been  so  enamored,  in 
company,  with  a  sufficient  indiflerency,  he 
resolved  to  liave  his  meals  on  a  certain  day 
with  the  family,  as  had  been  his  wont  be- 
fore his  illness.     He  presented  himself  at 


old.  "Take  not  tins  accursed  marriaij;e  of 
mine  so  much  to  heart,  my  sweet  lile  !'* 
whispered  the  in  his  ear  very  lovingly. 
"Heed  thy  behavior,  and  thou  shall  prolit 
by  It  to  liiy  exceeding-  couteutatiiai.  lor 
now  such  can  be  done  saiely  which — " 

John  Hall  ioc  ked  in  her  lace  with  a  sort 
of  bewildered  stare,  every  vein  and  artery 
throbbing  as  though  they  would  burst.  He 
could  scarce   behuve  his  ears,  which  had 


his  customary  place,  and,  though   ieeliiig  i  conveyed  to  him  a  meanirg  which  seemed 


horribly  re?tless  and  uneasy,  lie  received 
the  general  congratulations  upnn  his  recov- 
ery without  much  embarrassment.  He  took 
his  seat.  Towards  her  he  dared  not  look  ; 
but  he  felt  she  was  sitting  over-against  him. 
Her  husband,  to  his  great  i-elief,  was  ab- 
sent, and  not  expected  to  return  till  late. 

The  meal   passed  off'  without  anything 
worthy  of  notice,  save  that  old  I'osset  strove 


to  have  turned  him  to  a  muss  of  hie  ;  but 
tlie  gaze  tliat  met  his  own  there  could  be  no 
doubnng;  his  eyes  iiad  fallen  before  its  too 
obvious  (.  xpression  once  before  ;  albeit,  now 
the  villany  of  it  came  to  him  so  glaringly, 
thai  his  whole  soul  revolted  at  its  baseuets, 
and  he  forcibly  pushed  her  from  liim. 

VVliilst  lie  buried  his  face  in  liis  hands, 
he  saw   nothing   of  the   horrible,  fiendisli 


to  show  himself  in  the  character  of  a  jester ;  i  scowl  with  wiiich  the  sj)urned  tempter  gazed 
but  his  was  the  facetiousness  of  a  grinning  '  "po"  ^'m.  The  conuly  face  was  distorted 
skeleton.  Nevertheless,  his  daughter  eii^  1  oi^'t  of  all  likeness  vviih  humanity  ;  it  was 
couraged  liis  Iiumor.  and  seemed,  to  the  spectral.  Medusa-like,  and  devilish,  beyond 
unhappy  student,  to  have  an  extraordinary  nil  expression.  In  a  short  time  it  returned 
flow  of  spirits.  He  could  not  fail  of  draw- .  'o  its  ordinary  expression — nay,  was  more 
ing  some  comparisons  between  her  now  !  s^miliiig  than  it  had  ever  been,  and  Millicent 
ever  ready  mirth  and  her  constant  affecta- 1  spoke  in  die  liglit  manner  she  had  a  mo- 


tion of  wretchedness  a  few  short  months 
before. 

The  dinner  had  all  been  removed,  and  the 
master  of  the  house  had  brewed  a  pot  of 
sack,  which  was  poured  out  in  glasses  for 
the  company.  Millicent  had  hardly  got 
hers  in  her  hand,  when,  in  a  manner  half 
of  carelessness  and  half  of  spite,  she  ad- 
dressed everyone  in  turn,  and  wished  them 
something  which  liad  much  the  appearance 
of  being  what  was  least  desired.  John 
Hall  was  left  by  her  to  the  last,  when  she 
commenced  a  speech  to  him  in  the  same 
strain,  in  ambiguous  phrase,  but  sufficiently 
apparent  to  all  present.  She  alluded  to  his 
ill-placed  passion,  and  wished  him,  as  the 
best  thing  that  could  be  had  for  him,/o?g-e^ 
fulness.  This  was  too  much  for  the  miser- 
able lover;  his  pride  revolted  at  thus  being 
openly  pointed  out  as  the  sufferer  he  was, 
but  the  blow  was  one  ho  could  not  ward  off 
or  withstand,  lie  felt  the  corners  of  the 
room  whirling  round,  and,  for  some  seconds, 
he  lost  all  consciousness  of  what  or  where 
he  was. 

It  chanced  that,  just  at  this  time,  word 
was  brought  that  one  badly  wounded  in  a 
scuffle  was  waiting  to  have  his  hurts  dressed, 
which  instantly  caused  the  room  to  be  emp- 
tied of  all  but  Millicent  and  J(<hn  Hall. 
The  former,  for  some  motive  or  other,  left 


ment  since,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to 
change  her  humor.  When  he  found  him- 
self strong  enough,  the  young  student  stag- 
gereJ  out  of  the  room,  and  was  soon  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  chamber.  Here  he  had 
full  leisure  to  think  over  the  unquestionable 
evidence  lie  had  just  obtained  of  the  worth- 
less nature  of  the  woman  he  had  su  dis- 
tractedly loved.  Had  the  testimony  come 
from  any  other  source,  he  might  jiave  en- 
tertained a  doubt,  but,  proceeding  as  it  did 
from  her  own  polluted  lips,  it  carried  with 
it  a  teiTible  conviction.  A  sensitive  nature 
and  a  pure  mind,  that  have  remained  for  a 
long  period  in  the  most  blessed  conviction 
that  the  fair  creature  for  whom  all  their 
best  energies  were  devoted,  was  the  one 
rare  example  of  perfect  excellence  the  world 
possessed,  discovering,  of  a  sudden,  that 
she  is  among  the  very  vilest  of  her  sex,  can 
scarce  iail  of  receiving  a  shock  likely  to 
unsettle  his  whole  being.  He  who  truly 
loves,  loves  only  in  the  impression  of  iiis 
mistress's  superiority  in  all  vvorihiness — this 
conviction  is  to  his  passion  air,  and  food, 
and  raiment ;  this  it  is  that  leadeth  him  to 
adoration,  this  it  is  that  speaketh  for  him  in 
song  .  but  it  hath  nu)re  tlian  once  fortuned, 
that  this  fair  seeming  hath  been  only  the 
I'ruitof  a  much-studied  hypocrisy,  and  that 
under  the  outer  semblance  of  such  great 


THE  SECHET  PASSION. 


165 


goodness  there  existed  unpirallelod  bise- 
noss ;  and  such  was  it,  beyoii:!  ail  manner 
ot'  doubt,  in  the  cas3  of  this  unnatural  I'aise 
Jezabei. 

Oar  young  student  was  sorciy  troubled 
in  mind;  but  he  saw  tliere  was  tor  liiin  but 
one  measure,  which  was  a  proper  schoohng 
of  himself  to  regard  the  te  upt^'r  in  the  ligiii 
she  oagat  only  t)  be  looked  upon  by  him  ; 
and,  strengtiiening  his  heart  with  divert 
wholesome  resolu lions,  he  succeeded  at  last 
in  qnietnig  his  disuirbjd  nature  soaiewhat. 
He  called  tominJ  his  mother's  tender  w.irn- 
ings,  and  ih::se  and  othjr  gooJiy  recoUec- 
tioas  of  ihi  admirable  principles  she  had 
tiiven  such  inrinite  pains  to  implaut  into 
hiai,  did  strengthen  and  encourage  him 
wunderiaily. 

It  was  a  Ltt'.e  after  midnight  on  the  same 
evening  that  Millicent  1  -ft  lur  sleeping  hus- 
band, and,  wrapping  herself  in  a  loose  gown, 
stealthily  and  silently  crept  down  t^turs 
Having  provided  herself  with  a  lighted 
lamp  froai  tue  kitchen,  she  proceeded  to  the 
little  back  ch  imber  describi'd  in  a  jireceding 
chapter,  as  one  waere  MasLer  D:jcter  Posset 
was  wont  lo  enjoy  his  privacy  uninoleJt;d 
by  any  save  his  daughter,  tiie  door  of  which 
she  unlocked  with  a  key  she  took  iVoai  her 
girdle  ;  taen  enternig  sne  locked  herself  in. 
Placing  the  lamp  on  fae  table,  she  went 
iniaiedi  dAy  to  tne  old  cabinet,  which  she 
opened  w.t.i  anoth-T  kjy.  The  doors  thrown 
back  d.scovered  nests  of  drawers,  save  at 
the  top  whijh  looked  to  be  blank  ;  but  Mil- 
liceii;,  toucliing  a  secret  spring,  tiie  panel 
slid  on  one  side,  and  taeie  appeared  several 
curiously-sliapjd  little  bottles,  some  witn 
powder?,  and  some  with  li  jui  is- 

Slie  opened  one  of  t.ie  drawers,  and  took 
from  thence  a  pair  of  ivory  scales  with 
divers  s.nall  weight ■; ;  from  anoLher  she  took 
a  graduated  glass  measure;  from  a  third  a 
pestle  and  mortar  of  the  same  material. 
These  she  carefully  placed  on  the  table 
without  noise ;  then  took  several  of  the 
bottles,  and  weighed  and  measured  their 
contents  in  certain  quantities,  and  mixed 
thein  in  the  mortar. 

VViiilst  this  was  being  don^,  it  wa-  curi- 
ous to  notice  the  dull,  unearthly  expression 
which  pervaded  her  visage.  Her  sallow 
cheek  was  more  bloodless  than  ever  ;  her 
eyes  seemed  covered  with  a  dead  glaze  ; 
and  her  lips  were  of  a  b  ueish  tinge,  and 
finnly  coaipre.ssed.  Once  or  twice  she 
looked  as  though  she  smiled,  but  it  was  a 
smile  of  such  a  sort  as  might  have  become 
a  corpse,  raised  to  life  by  some  awlul  deed 
of  sorcery.  Anon,  at  a  sud.len  noise  being 
heard,  she  suspended  her  operations,  shaded 


tiie  lamp  by  interposing  her  handkerchief 
between  it  and  li.e  door,  held  her  breath, 
and  glared,  listening  with  a  terrible  atten- 
tivencss,  With  an  a.spect  that  seemed  to 
iiave  t.ie  fearful  power  of  blasting  the  sight 
of  any  too  curious  looker-on.  All  was  still 
again,  and  she  resumed  her  work  with  tiie 
coid,  inhuman  visage  with  which  she  had 
comaienced  it. 

Tiie  mixture  was  at  last  completed,  and 
secured  in  a  vial,  and  the  vessels  which 
had  been  used  were  each  separately  washed 
and  dried,  and  put  with  the  rest  of  tue  tilings 
m  tneir  proper  places.  Tlie  panel  was  then 
returned  to  its  place,  and  the  cabinet  locked; 
and  the  lamp  was  held  close  before  the  table, 
and  then  to  tae  floor,  to  see  that  nothing 
had  fallen  which  could  show  any  one  had 
been  in  that  chamber.  Having  suthciendy 
sati^^tied  herself  in  this  respect,  she  took  the 
vial  and  the  lamp,  and,  carefully  locking  tiie 
door  of  the  room  after  her,  blew  out  the 
lignt,  replaced  it  in  the  kitchen,  and  then 
cautiously  returned  to  her  own  cliamber. 

Joan  Hall  awoke  much  weAer  in  body 
thin  lie  had  been  the  day  before  at  the  same 
tane.  As  he  dressed  lumsell,  he  again  re- 
flected on  the  incident  of  the  previous  day, 
and  he  came  lo  a  determination  of  renew- 
ing tiiose  saidies  that  had  been  so  complete- 
ly interrupted  by  the  violence  of  his  passion. 
In  accordance  w.th  this  v.ry  admirable  re- 
solution, he  looked  to  his  favorite  books  with 
wtiich  lie  seemed  to  return  with  a  new 
relisii.  But  he  was  not  in  a  condition  for 
.iny  serious  study — the  task  soon  became 
irk.-oiue  to  him,  and  deSjiite  of  his  inchnation 
to  coiiLiiiue  at  it,  he  more  than  once  found 
himself  indulging  in  his  old  habit  of  dreamy 
reveries,  instead  of  directing  his  attention 
to  the  page  befoie  him. 

To  his  inflnite  wonderment  and  no  small 
confusion,  the  person  of  ail  others  he  w.shed 
least  to  see  entered  the  room.  He  would 
gladly  have  told  her  he  desired  not  her  com- 
pany ;  but  there  was  such  a  winning  clieer- 
falness  in  her  manner,  and  such  an  impres- 
sive kindness  in  her  language,  that  any 
repulse  on  his  part  would  aj;pear  a  rudeness 
there  seemed  no  warrant  tor  his  shewing. 
She  had  brought  with  her  a  basin  of 
strengthening  broth,  which  she  had  made, 
as  she  said,  expressly  for  the  perfect  healing 
of  his  sickness — for  she  had  determined  to 
take  his  cure  into  her  own  hand — and  she 
continued  to  converse  with  so  graceful  a 
modesty,  and  so  admirable  a  good  humor, 
that  he  could  not  help  coming  to  some  doubts 
he  had  understood  her  righty  in  her  beha- 
vior to  him  the  previous  dty. 

The  end  was,  that  he  allowed  himself  to 


166 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


be  persimdod  by  her  of  the  restorative  qiril- 
itios  of  tlie  bruili,  and  was  content  to  make 
trial  of  its  etiljcts.  8lie  iiisi.sted  she  would 
SCO  iiini  take  it,  as  was  the  duty  ol'  a  good 
nurse,  and  so  he  fell  into  her  humor,  and 
straightway  began  to  do  as  she  would  have 
him. 

The  broth  seemed  of  especial  excellence, 
and  cunningly  compounded,  as  she  said,  of 
certain  rare  herbs.  He  commended  its 
savor,  and  was  content  she  should  concoct 
the  same  mess  for  hun  every  day  till  he  re- 
covered. Several  d.iys  passed,  and  she 
came  regularly  at  the  same  hour,  and  be- 
haved in  the  like  commendable  fashion, 
always  overllovving,  as  it  were,  with  good- 
humor,  gentkness,  and  the  tenderest  sym- 
pathy, nevertheless,  for  all  her  friendly 
care,  he  feit  hunself  getting  much  worse, 
and  in  a  manner  for  which,  with  all  his 
skill  in  medicine,  he  could  not  account. 
His  pulse  was  sinking,  his  mouth  was 
parched  with  an  ill  taste,  his  head  ached 
strangely,  hs  had  racking  internal  pains, 
and  his  limbs  could  scarce  support  his  body. 
His  new  nurse,  hearing  these  symptoms, 
made  light  of  them,  and  still  maintained  her 
restorative  broth  should  work  his  speedy 
cure.  This  while  he  saw  no  one  else  but 
MiUicent,  for  she  had  taken  especial  pains 
to  keep  every  one  out  of  the  way. 

His  pains  were  getting  to  be  so  gre  it, 
and  his  feebleness  so  to  increase,  that  he 
began  to  think  his  case  needed  the  most 
skilful  physician  he  could  tind ;  and  on  this 
point  he  spoke  seriously  to  his  attendant, 
but  she  treated  his  tears  as  proceeding  only 
from  lovvness  of  spirits,  winch  would  leave 
him  in  a  day  or  two,  and  pressed  on  him  her 
restorative  broth  as  an  unquestionable  re- 
medy. 

It  had  been  her  practice  every  day  to  stay 
in  tlie  room  whilst  her  patient  swallovi^ed 
the  brolii,  and  ^ile  would  never  be  satisried 
till  he  had  drank  it  all.  It  so  happened  on 
one  occasion  she  was  suddenly  called  away 
very  urgently  when  he  had  about  half  hii- 
ished  it,  and,  not  feeling  disposed  to  take 
any  more,  Julin  Hall  put  the  basin  on  the 
ground  before  a  tavori'e  little  sj)aniel  that 
usually  accompinied  Milliceutin  her  visits. 
The  dog,  notliing  loatli,  licked  it  up  every 
drop ;  but,  scarcely  had  lie  done  so,  when 
he  began  to  appear  exceeding  restless  and 
uneasy.  Prtsenlly  he  whined  very  |!iteous- 
ly,  and  ran  round  the  chamber  with  his 
tongue  out  of  his  mouth,  looking  terribly  dis- 
turbed. Anon  lie  stopped,  and  straightway 
twisted  himself  about,  and  writhed  and  roll- 
ed, howling  wi.dly,and  foaming  at  the  mouth 
as  though  m  a  monstrous  agony. 


John  Hall  gazed  on  the  poor  animil  in 
a  strange  amazement  and  al.irm.  At  first 
he  was  fain  to  believe  he  might  be  taken 
with  a  sudden  fit ;  but  when  he  beheld  the 
evident  torture  he  endured,  and  saw  too 
jilainly  he  was  dying  a  terrible  death,  he 
was  bewildered  and  astounded  with  his  own 
thoughts.  The  symptoms  were  undoubtcKlly 
those  which  arise  from  the  taking  of  poison ; 
this  poison  could  only  have  been  in  the  broth 
he  had  just  swallowed  ;  and,  if  the  broth 
had  been  mixed  with  any  poisonous  stutt'  it 
was  such  as  he  had  been  taking  for  several 
days. 

A  horrible  conviction  came  upon  him,  and 
he  gasped  for  breath  as  he  entertained  it. 
lie  had  been  daily  taking  the  broth,  and  had 
been  daily  getting  into  a  state  like  one  who 
may  be  said  to  be  dying  by  inches. 

At  this  moment  tlie  dog  uttered  a  pierc- 
ing howl,  and  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  John 
Hall  sank,  sick  unto  death,  into  the  nighest 
chair. 

He  was,  however,  roused  from  the  stupor 
that  was  coming  over  him  by  the  return  of 
Millicent,  and,  making  a  desperate  effort  as 
he  clung  to  the  back  of  the  chair  for  sup- 
port, he  hurriedly  related  the  awful  sight  he 
iiad  just  witnessed,  and,  in  a  few  and  inco- 
herent words,  accused  herof  attcmp*;ing  his 
life  by  daily  administering  some  noxious 
ingredient.  As,  with  looks  of  honor  and 
alarm,  he  gazed  upon  her  visage,  he  was 
struck  by  the  ghastly  paleness  which  in- 
stantly overspread  it,  and  the  shrinking  eye, 
quivering  lij),  and  trembling  form,  were 
alcne  sulficient  evidence  of  her  atrocious 
guilt. 

Where  was  the  matchless  hypocrisy,  the 
subtle  cr.ift,  the  wondrous  readiness  of  de- 
ception that  had  so  often  served  her  in  times 
of  peril  ?  Where  were  her  tricks,  and  gloz- 
ings,  and  cheats  she  had  in  such  irtinile 
abundance  at  her  commandment  ?  Had 
the  ample  magazine  of  her  artifices  been  so 
exliausted,  there  was  no  lie  left,  uo  deceit 
practicable,  no  treachery  at  command,  by 
which  she  could  move  the  fcul  suspicion 
which  every  moment  grev/  more  black 
against  her  ? 

A  few  seconds  of  horrible  silence  fol- 
lowed, which  the  /oung  student  at  last 
broke,  as  with  ?.  superhuman  energy. 
Catching  his  breath  with  a  sharp  guttural 
spasm,  in  a  voico  scarcely  audible  for  its 
hoarseness,  hfi  bade  her  '"Begone  !"  The 
wretch  obe\  eJ,  cowed  as  it  were  by  the  sud- 
diMiness  of  die  discovery  of  her  damnable 
villanousness,  and  retired  as  quickly  as  she 
could — {lerchance  to  devise  means  of  prac- 
lising  upoii    her  victim  more  elFectually. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


167 


But,  scarce  had  the  door  closed  upon  her, 
when  John  Hall  started  up  with  frantic  ea- 
gerness, hurried  down  stairs,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  with  the  fullest  determi- 
nation never  to  enter  those  accursed  doors 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Then  the  Soldier 
#  »  *  *  » 

Seekhig  the  bubble  reputation, 
Even  iu  the  cannon's  nioutli. 

Shakskeare. 

The  state  of  Venice  had  been  famed  for 
the  vigor  wherewith  it  had  iti  times  passed 
carried  on  war  against  the  Ottoman  ;  and, 
although  years  had  gone  by  since  any  dis- 
tinguishing victory  had  brought  honor  to  the 
arms  of  this  renowned  republic,  there  were 
not  wanting,  either  amongst  her  hardy  gon- 
doliers, her  skilful  artificers,  or  prodigal 
young  nobles,  spirits  as  reiidy  to  rally  round 
the  gUjrious  banner  of  St.  Mark,  as  when 
defended  by  the  most  heroic  of  her  doges, 
it  was  planted  on  the  walls  of  tiie  capital  of 
the  western  world. 

The  winged  lion,  though  far  less  promi- 
nent in  the  war  of  Christian  chivalry 
against  the  turbaned  intidel,  than  in  the 
time-honored  days  of  the  worthies  of  her 
golden  book,  had  not  yet  learned  to  live  in 
inglorious  peace  with  the  ancient  enemy  of 
its  protectors,  and  both  by  land  and  sea,  had, 
witli  scarce  any  intermissions,  looked  over 
battles  and  skirmishings,  as  varying  m  their 
natures  as  in  their  fortunes.  Sometimes  both 
Venetians  and  Turks  carried  on  their  en- 
during contest  in  places  as  remote  from  the 
natural  home  of  the  one  as  of  the  other,  and 
upon  an  occasion  armaments  would  be  fit- 
ted out  by  either  power  to  invade  the  do- 
minions of  the  other ;  but,  wherever  they 
might  chance  to  meet,  this  was  certain,  that 
very  pretty  fighting  would  soon  follow, 
which  was  thought  so  attractive  a  matter  to 
divers  of  the  restless  bold  hearts  of  the  mure 
peaceful  kingdoms  of  Europe,  that  they 
liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  serve  a  cam- 
paign or  so  under  the  Venetian  commanders. 

It  chanced  that  the  whole  senate  of  Ve- 
nice became  thrown  into  a  sudden  commo- 
tion by  the  intelligence  that  a  powerful 
body  of  Turks  had  contrived  to  land,  and 
take  by  surprise  a  small  place  in  the  Vene- 
tian territory,  which  it  was  said  they  liad 
entrenched,  as  though  with  a  view  to  re- 
tain. Measures,  however,  were  promptly 
taken  to  dispossess  them  of  their  conquest, 


and  the  warlike  citizens  of  the  republic,  in- 
flamed by  the  rumors  of  their  unfortunate 
countrymen  taken  prisoners  only  to  be  sold 
as  s  aves,  thronged  to  the  ships  that  were 
to  transport  them  to  the  sjjot  they  intended 
to  signalize  by  the  punishment  of  their  au- 
dacious enemy,  and  the  deliverance  of  tlieir 
pining  friends.  I  would  I  might,  with  a 
proper  convenience  of  this,  my  story,  here 
tell  the  goodly  show  of  weapons,  the  famous 
display  of  armor,  and  the  no  less  admirable 
array  of  all  other  proper  muniti'ms  of  war, 
that  gave  such  a  brave  appearance  to  the 
lagunes  ;  but  I  must  for  certain  good  and 
proper  reasons  at  once  transport  the  reader 
to  the  cami)  of  the  Venetians,  a  brief  space 
only  before  they  assaulted  the  position  the 
Turks  iiad  taken,  and  seemed  ready  enough 
to  defend. 

The  two  armies  lay  in  sight  of  each  other, 
the  Ottomans  on  a  hill  over-against  the  lit- 
tle town,  above  which  their  standards  still 
proudly  waved.  Afiroff  was  the  sea,  with 
the  Turkish  fleet  hotly  engaged  with  the 
ships  of  Venice,  which,  having  put  ashore 
the  force  intended  to  operate  against  their 
enemies  on  the  land,  had  sailed  to  destroy 
their  vessels,  and  so  prevent  their  escaping 
by  sea. 

The  town  seemed  to  be  defended  with  no 
lack  of  military  skill,  but  the  principal  reli- 
ance of  the  infldels  looked  to  be  a  battery 
of  six  petards,  which  already  began  to  pour 
forth  its  murderous  fire  as  the  front  col- 
umns of  the  Venetians  approached  with 
trumpets  blowing  and  banners  flying  to  be- 
gin the  combat,  '('he  whole  army  of  the 
republic  was  in  motion ;  and  it  was  at  this 
period,  just  as  their  general,  surrounded  by 
ills  ablest  captains,  had  given  his  last  or- 
ders for  the  disposition  of  his  forces,  an  an- 
cient approached,  and  with  a  vast  show  of 
respect  and  reverence,  delivered  certain  pa- 
pers into  his  hands.  The  general  was  a 
veteran,  tall,  stately,  and  severe  of  aspect, 
who,  it  was  easy  to  see,  had  fought  under 
the  banner  of  St.  Mark,  for  some  two  score 
years  at  least.  He  was  splendidly  appa- 
relled in  the  picturesque  Venetian  habit, 
which  lost  nothing  of  its  state  by  being  seen 
on  his  commanding  figure.  In  brief,  he 
was  just  that  manner  of  man  whereof  the 
skilful  limning  of  Titian  hath  given  such 
admirable  examples. 

Taking  the  papers  into  his  hands,  he 
broke  the  seals,  and  read  them  attentively, 
and  with  visable  appearance  of  interest. 
This  done,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  bear- 
er, and  sriid,  in  an  audible  sonorous  voices 
— "  Let  thein  enter."  Straightway  the  of- 
ficer  made    his    obedience,   and    departed 


168 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


thence  ;  prosontly,  however,  returning',  ;ic- 
coinfwnied  by  two  [)crson:=,  whom  lie  nn- 
roiinced  as  "  tlic  Sij^nor  Shrtkspea,  and  the 
Signer  Gngliehno  Erberto,  Cavalieri  Ingle- 
si."  The  difierent  capt  in-<  ionked  on  tlie 
strangers  with  a  pleased  cm-iousness,  for 
there  was  that  in  botli  that  did  as  well  be- 
come as  bespeak  the  soldier.  The  captain- 
general  g;\zed  from  one  to  the  other  as  thoy 
sainted  liini,  and,  if  satisfi -d  with  the  liery 
valor  tliat  shone  in  the  glances  of  the 
younger  of  the  two,  his  eyes  rested  with  no 
less  approval  on  tiie  steady  resoluteness  that 
was  as  plamly  to  be  seen  in  the  graver  as- 
pect of  tiic  senior.     Him  he  addressed. 

"  I  have  read  with  very  singular  satisfac- 
tion. Signor,"  said  he  with  exceeding  gra- 
ciousness  of  manner,  "  these  letters  from 
certain  honorable  Councillors  of  State,  in 
Venice,  my  assured  friends,  stHting  your  de- 
sire to  serve  with  your  young  companicm, 
under  my  command,  and  urgently  recom- 
mending you  both,  as  persons  of  considera- 
tion and  worship,  to  my  countenance  and 
favor.  Signor,  I  am  right  glad  to  please 
the  state — and  am  well  content  to  have  any 
of  your  honor.ible  nation  to  be  my  good 
comrades  in  this  campaign.  By  the  favor 
of  God  and  St.  Mark,  I  will  anon  give  you 
such  opportunity  of  displaying  your  noble 
valor  again.^t  the  infidel  as  I  doubt  not  will 
be  greatly  to  your  contentation. 

"DaPiinte!"  he  exclaimed,  to  a  young 
soldier  of  the  group  around  him,  "  take  these 
worthy  cavaliers  to  be  of  your  company, 
and  with  all  dispatch  join  the  division  now 
marching  against  the  enemy's  centre  ;  and, 
gentlemen,"  lie  added,  to  the  others,  "  we 
will  all,  an  it  please  you  to  our  several 
posts." 

Thereupon  there  was  a  stir  among  that 
warlike  assembly — each  hurried  away  to 
his  company,  or  to  perform  such  duty 
as  had  been  previously  assigned  him — 
sounds  of  command  were  heard  in  all  ci- 
rections — trumpets  were  blown  and  drums 
beat:  the  general  mounted  a  charger  richly 
caparisoned,  and  with  several  of  his  cap- 
tains aboi.t  him,  galloped  otf;  and  my  Lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir  and  his  estimable  gover- 
nor found  themselves,  in  a  few  minutes' 
space,  marching  in  the  midst  of  a  well-ap- 
pointed body  of  Venetian  soldiers,  directly 
in  front  of  the  enemy's  position. 

At  this  time,  the  loud  report  of  the  great 
gun.s,  and  a  scattered  tiring  of  matchlocks, 
tnld  that  some  of  the  advanced  parlies  were 
already  engaged  witli  the  Turks  :  but  it  was 
not  till  tlio  armies  approached  each  other 
-more  nearly  that  the  contest  became  gene- 
ral, and  then  it  beyan  to  wax  fiercer  and 


fiercer  every  instant — for  both  wore  inflam- 
ed with  religious  zeal,  and  a  national  ani- 
mosity that  had  endured  for  many  genera- 
tions. 

The  bravery  of  silken  scarfs,  embroidered 
vestments,  rich  banners,  gorgeous  turbans, 
coscly  arms  and  armor,  that  figured  in  that 
battle-lield  cxceedeth  belief,  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  away  from  any  part,  it  was 
like  unto  a  curtain  rising  above  some 
matchless  picture,  glowing  with  all  the 
deepest  colors  of  the  painter's  art. 

The  infidels  had  something  besides  fana- 
ticism and  hatred  to  urge  them  to  make  a 
stiff  fight  of  it,  for  they  were  well  aware 
that,  unless  they  beat  off  their  assailants, 
their  case  was  desperate  indeed.  What 
success  their  fleet  met  with,  they  could  have 
no  knowledge  of,  but  they  saw  it  was  in 
vain  to  look  there  for  assistance  at  that 
time.  Therefore,  they  encouraged  each 
oiher  with  their  warlike  cries,  and  rushed 
forward  with  shouts  in  praise  of  their  pro- 
phet, and  exc^crations  against  '•  the  Chris- 
tian dogs,''  with  whom  they  were  so  eager 
to  engage  in  deadly  battle. 

Master  Shakspeare,  in  availing  himself 
of  that  favorable  oppcjrtunity  to  obtain  for 
his  beloved  scholar  tlie  prized  accomplish- 
ments of  a  soldier,  had  not  done  so  without 
some  inward  strife  with  himself.  All  the 
earnest  dee|)  passion  he  had  so  long  yet  se- 
cretly felt  for  the  noble  mother,  he  had  gra- 
dually transferred  to  her  high-spirited  son, 
as  her  representative  and  perfect  image  ;  to 
the  lawfulness  of  which  he  li;\d  succeeded 
in  reconciling  himself,  though  he  was  as 
zealously  intent  as  ever  in  concealing  from 
its  object  the  influence  by  which  his  feel- 
ings were  ever  directed  towards  him. 

Moreover,  he  had  more  than  one  reason 
for  directing'  his  steps  towards  the  Vene- 
tian camp,  not  the  least  pressing  of  which 
was  the  necessity  there  existed  of  removing 
his  chnrge,  where  pressing  duties  and  con- 
stant action  would  destroy  a  degrading  en- 
tanglement he  had  winched  with  solicitude, 
and  had  in  vain  by  other  means  endeavored 
to  destroy.  'I'he  youthful  lover  wuild  needs 
be  his  own  judge  in  the  correctness  of  such 
matters,  and  like  a  fiery  horse  would  rush 
into  the  horriblest  mischief  were  any  rude 
means  employed  to  move  him  out  of  the  way 
of  it. 

To  his  governor's  huge  content,  he  found 
that  he  readily  embraced  the  attractive  pro- 
ject of  seeing  somewhat  of  the  art  of  war ; 
but  now  that  Mai^ter  Shakspeare  hid  him 
where  he  so  desired,  ho  was  by  no  means 
free  from  disquietude  ;  for  one  moment,  see- 
ing the  stoutness  with  which  the  battle  was 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


169 


contested,  he  feared  he  might  co.ne  to  harm, 
and  so  cause  the  greatest  un'^appiness  tliat 
could  befall  his  noble  mother  ;  and  anon, 
notinij  his  wilful  heedlessness  of  proper  dis- 
cipline, he  despaired  of  his  distinguishing 
himself  as  would  be  most  to  her  contenta- 
tion. 

Weapons  of  numberless  sorts  were  now 
glancing  threateningly  in  all  directions 
around  him — tlie  wel'-tempered  Damiscus 
blade  crossing  the  trusty  Toledo,  and  the 
bright  Moorish  lance  ringing  against  the 
Milan  breastplate.  The  spirited  war  cry 
of  '•  God  and  St.  Mark,"  from  the  stout 
soldiers  of  the  republic,  was  replied  to  by 
deafening  shouts  in  which  "  Allah"  and 
"  Mahomet"  could  not  fail  of  being  heard. 
The  Turks  opposed  the  Venetians  at  every 
inch,  endeavoring  with  frantic  furionsness 
to  break  their  ranks,  but  the  latter  forced 
them  back  with  great  slaughter  after  a  long 
and  severe  contest,  and  advanced  to  a 
bridge  entering  up(m  the  town,  which  was 
defended  by  petards  supported  by  a  strong 
force  of  desperate  intiJels.  If  Master  Shaks- 
peare  found  enough  employment  in  looking 
to  the  safety  of  his  young  companion  in 
arms,  awhile  since,  in  the  attack  on  the 
bridge  that  soon  followed,  the  service  v/as 
one  that  required  tenfold  watchfulness. 

The  winged  i<ion  waved  proudly  above 
the  heads  of  its  defenders,  as  they  came 
steadily  on  to  the  assault  in  the  very  face 
of  the  terrible  iron  engines,  that  vomited 
their  deadly  iron  shower  amongst  them. 
Here  the  Venetians  suffered  severely,  for 
when  the  Turkish  enginetTs  had  tired  their 
ibrmidable  artillery,  numerous  matchlock 
men  froui  the  neighboring  houses  and  walls 
kept  up  a  murderous  fire,  whilst  they  pre- 
pared for  another  discharge.  Cries,  mingled 
with  groans,  and  defiances,  were  answered 
v/ith  insults  and  execrations.  More  than 
once  the  brave  soldiers  of  Venice  were  bea- 
ten back  on  this  point,  but  they  eagerly  re- 
sponded to  the  voice  of  their  commanders, 
and  pressed  forward  to  revenge  their  slaugh- 
tered comrades. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  was  often  in 
the  mo-t  imminent  peril — his  companions 
kept  falling  fast  around  him,  and  it  could 
scarce  be  expected  he  could  long  escape 
tlie  same  end,  tor  he  had  got  himself  in  the 
foremost  ranks,  and,  to  the  adaiiration  of 
both  Iriends  and  foes,  was  ever  with  his 
anxious  governor  close  at  his  side,  the  first 
to  push  forward  after  a  repulse.  The  be- 
havior of  the  English  cav.iliers  so  inspirited 
their  allies,  that  on  a  sudden  they  all  rush- 
ed, in  spite  of  the  storm  of  mi-siles  that  sa- 
luted them,  up  to  the  very  mouths  of  the 


cannon.  The  engineers  fled  from  their 
guns,  and  the  bridge  was  in  the  possession 
of  the  Venetians. 

It  was  here,  during  the  short  but  slaugh- 
tering conflict  that  took  place  before  the 
Turks  finally  gave  way,  that  a  gigantu',  in- 
fidel threw  himself  suddenly  before  yoimg 
Herbert,  as  he  impetuously  pressed  onwurd 
with  the  most  daring  of  the  assailanis,  after 
their  retreating  foes,  and  easily  beating- 
aside  his  slight  rapier,  the  g'ittering  blade 
he  wielded  with  no  less  strength  than  sUill 
was  descending  on  the  youth's  head,  when 
it  fell  from  a  nerveless  grasp,  as  the  sword 
of  the  trusty  governor  was  buried  to  the  hilt 
in  his  heart.  Thrice  had  a  similar  service 
been  conferred,  in  that  perilous  fight,  by 
the  same  vigorous  arm  ;  then  tlie  watchful 
guardian,  assumnig  a  calm  he  felt  not,  had 
been  forced  to  iiurry  on  in  a  feverish  anx- 
iousness,  to  avrrt  the  mischiefs  that  seemed 
to  threaten  him  in  countless  numbers;  but 
in  this  instance,  the  greatness  of  the  escape 
of  his  charge  affected  him  so,  that  he  lost 
sight  of  his  ordinary  self-control,  and  with  a 
frantic  transport  enibraced  him  with  all  man- 
ner of  joyful  and  endearing  ejaculations. 
He  was  noi  long,  however,  before  ho  became 
aware  of  his  fbrgetfulness,  and  as  suddenly 
left  his  passionate  fond  humor  to  put  on  the 
more  sober  fishion  of  the  worthy  governor. 
Fortunately,  as  he  thougiit,tiie  youtii  marked 
not  the  strangeness  of  Ins  behavior,  taking 
it  to  be  excssive  pleasure  in  having  effect- 
ed his  rescue,  in  so  timely  a  manner,  and 
(lid  no  more  than  express  his  thankfulness 
for  such  excellent  service. 

Just  at  tills  time,  the  Captain-General  of 
the  Venetian  army  co.aiug  up,  stopped  at 
sight  of  the  two  English  cavaliers,  and,  be- 
fore all  the  captains  and  soldiers  around 
hitn,  did  connnend  them  exceedingly  for 
their  notable  gallantry.  Fired  w.th  this 
praise,  both  presently  hastened  with  the 
main  body  into  the  town,  which  was  storm- 
ed at  all  points.  Numbers  of  the  Turks 
were  driven  into  the  sea — many  perished  in 
the  houses  in  which  tfey  vainly  attempted 
to  defend  themselves — and  t!ie  few  who  re- 
mained together  in  the  streets,  keeping  up  a 
desperate  and  hopeless  resistance,  disdain- 
ing quarter  and  shouting  dehance  to  their 
enemies,  were  cut  down  to  a  man. 

Scarcely  was  this  glorious  victory  com- 
pleted, when  the  fleet  of  the  republic,  after 
an  equally  successful  conflict  with  the 
Turkish  ships,  returned  with  several  prizes, 
the  rest  having  been  either  sank,  or  scattered 
to  the  winds,  so  that  no  two  of  them  could 
bs  found  ti^ether.  Such  an  huuibang  of 
the  Ottoman  power  the  state  of  Venice  had 


170 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


not  achieved  for  many  a  year,  and  great 
was  the  exultation  among  all  classes,  both 
of  the  land  and  sea  forces  in  consequence. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  and  his  wor- 
thy governor  were  held  in  especial  honor  by 
their  principal  men  of  war,  for  the  exce.^d- 
ing  valor  they  had  displayed  when  the  tight 
was  at  the  hottest;  and,  at  the  return  of  the 
expedition,  the  nobles  vied  with  each  other 
which  should  sliovv  them  most  favor  and 
distinction. 

Nor  were  the  ladies  in  any  way  behind 
their  lords  in  this,  and  showered  their  most 
bewitching  smiles,  as  though  of  all  things 
they  cared  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  have 
such  gallant  spirits  for  their  declared  ser- 
vants and  devoted  favored  lovers.  As  there 
were  many  amongst  them  of  a  very  exqui- 
site and  ravishing  beauty,  Master  Shaks- 
peare  did  lonk  with  no  slight  degree  of  alarm 
on  the  greatness  of  the  temptation  with 
which  his  yoaiig  charge  was  now  surround- 
ed ;  and  he  had  need  of  all  his  watchfulness 
to  take  heed  he  thrust  himself  in  no  fatil 
mischiefs.  The  secret  assignations  —  the 
nightly  serenades — the  stolen  interviews — 
he  knew  to  be  full  of  deadly  peril;  and  he 
never  saw  him  enter  his  gondola  biit  he 
feared  the  poniard  of  some  envious  rival,  or 
the  poison  of  some  jealous  mistress,  would 
put  a  terrible  close  to  the  adventure,  in 
which,  he  was  but  too  well  aware,  he  was 
then  embarking. 

It  was  on  the  very  balmiest  of  moonlight 
nights,  when  the  silver  radiance  of  that 
planet,  which  is  so  well  liked  of  lovers,  was 
lighting  up  the  rich  architecture  of  one  of 
the  stateliest  palaces  in  all  Venice,  that  a 
lady  of  that  ripe  and  luscious  loveliness 
that  doth,  as  it  were,  take  the  senses  of  the 
gazer  by  storm,  was  seen  in  such  glorious 
robes  and  ornaments,  as  could  the  most 
temptingly  set  off  her  admirable  form  and 
countenance,  leaning  on  a  balcony  over- 
againsta  marble  terrace  that  led  by  a  flight 
of  steps  into  the  canal  that  washed  the  base- 
ment wills  of  the  building,  looking  with 
eyes  lustrous  as  lire,  yet  possessed  of  a  ten- 
derness withal,  that  did  marvellously  soften 
their  flaming  glances,  across  the  water,  as 
though  for  something  she  expected  there  to 
behold.  Ever  and  anon  a  melaruholy  gon- 
dola would  be  seen  gliding  along,  and  the 
voices  of  the  gondoliers  might  be  heard 
answering  to  each  other  in  words  of  liquid 
sweetness  and  tones  of  passionate  music. 
Perchance  the  slight  breeze,  th  it  so  gently 
stirred  the  waters,  would  waft  to  the  ear 
of  the  watcher  a  burst  of  harmony  which 
was  readily  recognized  as  a  seren ule  of 
some  fond  lover  for  the  peculiar  delectation 


of  his,  perchance,  eqiially  fond  mistress ; 
but  these  were  all  afar  oft",  and  evidently 
were  not,  in  any  way,  attending  upon  the 
pleasures  of  the  lady  of  the  balcony. 

She  seemed  to  span  the  blue  waves  that 
spread  out  before  her  glance  with  an  in- 
creasing interest — the  glowing  cheek  some- 
times paling,  and  anon,  flu.shiug  to  a  warmer 
hue  than  before,  as  she  watched  the  course 
of  the  distant  gondolas.  Presently  she 
noted  one  dextrously  turned  into  t!ie  chan- 
nel that  flowed  beneath  her,  and  then  her 
rosy  mouth  dimpled  into  an  expression  of 
such  delicious  sweetness,  that  doth  defy  the 
poet  or  the  painter's  craft  to  do  justice  to; 
and,  after  waiting  awhile  with  an  eloquent 
heaving  breast,  a  softer  glance,  and  a  more 
crimsoned  cheek,  as  she  recognized  the  well- 
known  boat  being  propelled  towards  the 
palace,  she  retired  a  little  distance,  whence 
she  could  conveniently  see  and  yet  not  be 
seen. 

The  gondola  was  urged  onward  till  it 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs — thereupon 
a  strain  of  soft  music  commenced,  which 
presently  received  additionil  harmony,  of 
no  ordinary  sort,  from  a  rich,  manly  voice, 
whose  every  note  was  as  full  of  passion  as 
of  music.  The  words,  which  lacked  no  art 
in  the  singer  to  make  them  sufficiently  ex- 
pressive, were  to  the  following  purpose  : 

SERENADE. 

The  day  hath  lost  its  gladness, 

Bella  Donna ! 

The  night  is  wrajjt  in  sadness, 

Bella  Donna  f 

The  wave,  the  shore,  the  skies, 

Now  don  their  sober  dyes, 

Pining  for  thy  sweet  eyes, 

Bella  Donna ! 

But,  ah  !  more  deep  emotion, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Than  earth,  or  air,  or  ocean, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Must  be  his  hapless  case. 

To  whom  all's  dull  and  base. 

That  lacks  tliy  matchless  grace, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Then  bring  thy  fondest  glances, 

Bella  Donna ! 

To  chase  such  solemn  fancies, 

BeUa  Donna ! 

And  hear,  till  blusliing  morn, 

All  nature  put  to  scorn, 

And  love's  soft  worship  sworn, 

BeUa  Donna ! 

As  the  song  of  the  unseen  singer  came 
to  its  close,  the  lady,  with  looks  that  did 
most  completely  bespeak  her  approval  of  its 


-THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


171 


sentiments,  came  to  the  balcony  and  waved 
her  han-.Jkerohief.  A  moment,  and  there 
leapt  on  shore  a  young  and  handsome  cav- 
alier— a  moment  more  lie  had  ascended  tlie 
stairs,  crossed  tlie  terrace,  reached  the  bal- 
cony, and  was  locked  in  the  arms  of  the 
kind  Venetian.  Scarce,  however,  had  the 
lovers  begun  to  give  utterance  to  their  mu- 
tual adoration,  when  a  shadow  fell  upon 
them,  and  th:^  figure  of  an  old  man,  whose 
wrinkled  visage  was  distorted  with  hatred 
and  jealousy,  was  seen  creeping  stealthily 
behind  them,  with  a  long,  sharp  dagger 
clutched  ia  his  nerveless  grasp. 

'•Fly,  Signer  Erberto!  Maledetto  !  here 
is  my  husband !"'  screamed  the  terrified 
dame,  as  slie  glided  from  his  embrace  and 
disappeared.  The  youth  was  so  inigeiy 
surprised  that  he  kuew  not  where  to  look 
for  the  unwelcome  intruder;  and  the  threat- 
ening weapon  was  already  gleaming  in  his 
eyes,  when  a  figure,  closely  wrapped  in  a 
black  domino,  and  as  closely  masked,  rushed 
from  his  pi  ice  of  concealment,  and,  in  the 
same  instant,  the  meditated  assassin  was 
hurled  down  the  marble  stairs,  and  lay  stun- 
ned and  motionless  at  the  bottom. 

"  Well  met  again,  E.Kcellency,"  said  an 
unknown  voice,  cheerfully. 

'•And  a.'ain  I  thank *thee,  Signor,"  re- 
plied the  g  ihant,  though  with  more  reserve 
than  might  iiave  been  e.xpected  under  tiie 
circum-itinces.  "But  methinks  it  seemeth 
marvellous  strange  thou  shouldst  ever  bo  at 
hand  when  my  life  is  in  jeopardy.  1  would 
fain  know  to  whom  I  am  so  hugely  indebt- 
ed." 

"  Pardon  me,  Signer  Erberto,"  said  the 
other,  "  my  name  is  not  of  such  importance 
to  deserve  tlie  attentiiin  of  a  noble  English 
cavalier,  like  yoarseif.  But  let  me  warn 
you.  Excellency,  that  if  you  leave  not  this 
city  ere  another  sun  sets,  the  vengeance  of 
offended  husbands  and  jealous  rivals,  to 
whom  you  have  given  such  potent  provoca- 
tion, cannot  fail  of  overtaking  you." 

"  A  notable  warning,  i'  faith  !"  cried  the 
youth,  laughingly.  "  But  I  fear  me  much 
I  am  in  no  case  for  profiting  by  it,  while 
the  dames  of  this  beautiful  city  are  at  once 
.so  fair  and  so  kind." 

"  Cospetto !  they  are  indeed  a  temptation," 
said  the  stringer,  but  added,  more  gravely, 
"  The  love  which  is  so  lightly  won,  me- 
thinks, ought  to  be  valued  by  any  man, 
who  is  not  a  fool  or  madman,  as  of  little  ac- 
coimt  in  comparison  with  his  own  life." 

"  Am  1  fool  or  madman.  Signer,  if  1 
choose  to  r'sk  my  life  in  such  pursuits?" 
angrily  demanded  the  fiery  youth. 


"  In  honest  truth,  so  it  would  seem,"  qui- 
etly replied  the  other. 

"  And,  perchance,  I  may  be  thought  some- 
thing worse  ?"  asked  Master  Herbert,  with 
every  symptom  of  a  rising  passion. 

"  I  doubt  not  you  would  be  open  to  such 
an  opinion,"  gravely  responded  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Nay,  by  this  hnnd,  this  is  siieer  insult !" 
exclaimed  the  impetuous  young  English- 
man. "  You  have  put  an  intolerable  affront 
on  me.  1  will  owe  no  obligations  to  one 
who  doth  good  services  only  to  hold  the 
person  on  whom  he  conferreth  them  in  con- 
tempt. I  charge  you,  draw  and  defend  your- 
self." 

The  stranger  seemed  unwilling  at  first  to 
comply  with  this  challenge  ;  but  soon  find- 
ing he  could  not  avoid  it,  he  opened  his 
domino,  and  drew  his  rapier.  He  had  but 
barely  time  to  put  himself  on  his  defence, 
when  the  rash  and  fiery  youth  came  upon 
him  so  vigorously,  yet  so  incautiously 
withal,  that,  after  a  few  rapid  passes,  he 
ran  upon  the  point  of  his  opponent's  weap- 
on, and  it  entered  his  side  to  some  depth. 
At  the  sight  of  his  b!o(;d,  the  stranger  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  horror  and  despair,  impossible 
to  be  expressed  ;  and  his  mask  drojiping  off 
as  he  stooped  to  catch  the  wounded  youth, 
who  was  falling  in  a  swoon  to  the  ground, 
there  appeared  the  noble  features  of  Master 
Shakspeare.  He  hurriedly  caught  his  young 
charge  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  down 
to  the  gondola,  where  he  presently  bound 
up  the  wound,  and  soon  had  him  safe  at  his 
own  lodgings,  under  the  care  of  the  skilful- 
lest  chirurgeons  in  Venice. 

Master  Herbert  never  knew  by  whom  he 
had  been  wounded,  and  believed  that  he  had 
been  discovered  after  he  had  received  his 
hurt.  'J'he  worthy  governor  now  played  the 
part  of  the  anxious  nurse,  not  only  attend- 
ing strictly  to  the  surgeon's  directions,  but 
making  the  hours  of  the  invalid — restless 
at  all  times,  but  now  still  more  impatient  of 
confinement — so  pleasant  with  the  legends 
and  ballads  he  had  picked  up  from  the  gon- 
doliers and  others,  that  he  seemed  to  forget 
he  was  under  any  restraint.  Foremost  in 
these  narratives  in  his  favor  was  the  roman- 
tic story  of  a  Moor,  who  was  a  general  of 
the  Venetian  army,  and,  taking  to  wife  an 
exquisite  Venetian  lady,  was  driven  to  such 
a  madness  of  jealousy  by  the  perjuries  of 
an  artful  villain,  that  he  stifled  his  fair  wife 
as  slie  slept ;  and  when  ho  found  liow  dei^ply 
he  had  been  deceived,  presently  laid  violent 
hands  on  himself,  and  died,  in  the  old  Ro- 
man fashion,  with  his  own  sword. 


172 


THE  SECRIOT  PASSION. 


In  this  way  lie  was  h  'aled  in  an  increJi- 
blc  sliort  time;  and,  leivinji;  Venice,  they 
travelled  in  the  direction  of  Verona,  visiting 
all  the  places  vvorlhy  of  note  in  their  way. 
It  is  true,  young  Herbert  sceiried  to  listen  to 
what  came  from  iiis  worthy  tutcr  with  more 
attentiveness  than  formerly  ;  but  the  magic 
of  a  pair  of  black  eyes  soon  deprived  the 
forciblest  lessons  of  wisdom  of  their  attrac- 
tion ;  and  he  was  wont  to  neglect  them  al- 
together when  he  found  more  pleasint)- stud- 
ies elsewhere.  Master  Shakspeare  lived  in 
a  state  of  exceeding  anxiousness  about  his 
young  charge,  who  would  be  absent  t^rom 
liim  for  two  or  three  days  together,  dreadini; 
he  was  engaged  in  some  questi(Hiable  a  :- 
venture,  endangering  as  much  his  credit  as 
his  safety  ;  but  he  so  loved  him,  as  nuK'h 
now  for  some  nobler  qualities  he  had  seen 
in  him,  as  for  the  noble  mother  ho  did  so 
forcibly  remind  him  of,  that  he  found  greater 
difficulties  every  day  to  put  on  the  governor 
towards  him,  as  harshly  as  he  made  it  ne- 
cessary. 

It  is  essential  that  here  the  author  should 
change  the  scene  of  the  mmy-colored  life 
he  has  essayed  to  draw,  to  one  as  strangely 
differing  fmm  what  the  understanding  reader 
hath  had  knowledge  of,  as  doth  a  phcenix 
from  a  birn-door  fowl.  So,  with  his  per- 
mission, I  will  at  once  transport  liim  to  one 
of  the  wildest  landscapes  that  ever  figured 
in  a  painter's  canvas  or  a  poet's  dream. 
It  was  a  sort  of  ravine  or  gorge  in  the 
mountains,  enclosed  by  huge  masses  of 
gran;te,  covered  with  lichens  of  various 
colors;  but  rank  and  luxuriant  vegetation 
of  shrubs  and  grasse.^  was  perceptible  where 
the  soil  was  deeper,  with  here  and  there  a 
tall  tree,  stretching  its  giant  arms  far  above. 

Picketed  where  the  best  fodder  seemed 
to  grow  were  two  or  three  young  horses, 
which,  to  all  appearance,  were  worth  a  fair 
sum,  save  oidy  to  such  as  were  well  expe- 
rienced in  the  buying  of  horse-flesh,  who 
would  detect  in  them  such  faults,  cunningly 
disguised  though  they  were,  that  made  them 
comparatively  worthless.  Further  off  were 
asses  and  mules  grazing  at  full  liberty,  save 
that  a  half-n.iked  urchin,  who  seemed  to 
find  excellent  sport,  as  he  lay  at  his  length 
on  the  ground. by  gambling  with  himself  for 
a  single  doit,  was  watching  that  they  strayed 
not  too  far.  In  one  place  tents  were  pitched  ; 
in  another,  a  tire  burnt,  and  a  huge  bla(;k 
pot  was  reeking  over  it ;  but,  save  a  few 
boys  lying  about  in  idle,  listiir-ss  groups  here 
and  there,  whose  devil-m-ty-care  features 
appeared  to  have  lost  half  their  audacity, 
tliere  was  nothing  of  human  life  visible. 

But,  on   getting  behind   the  tents,   this 


could  bo  no  longer  the  case,  for,  lo  !  there 
was  an  assemblage  grouped  together,  of 
man  and  woman,  of  age  and  youth,  swarthy 
as  Moors;  all  looking  as  wild  and  lawless 
a  set  as  ever  cheated  or  robbed,  and  not  a 
few  having  j'ist  tliat  sort  of  visage  commonly 
tliought  to  belong  exclusively  to  such  as  deal 
in  witchcraft,  and  have  dealings  with  the 
arch  enemy  of  mankind. 

Truly  this  was  as  diabolical  a  set  of 
beings  as  could  ever  have  been  found  to- 
gether in  one  place.  They  squatted  on 
their  hams,  excepting  some  who  leaned 
against  the  rock,  or  lay  at  full  length,  rest- 
ing on  their  elbows ;  but  the  faces  of  all  had 
the  same  settled  stern  malignity,  whether  it 
was  that  of  the  toothless  crone,  or  the  bud- 
ding girl,  the  decrepid  grandfather,  or  the 
sportive  child — all,  save  one,  and  she  was 
as  different  from  all  around  her  as  is  a  costly 
gem  among  bisest  peiibles.  She  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  her  hands  tied  be- 
hind her;  and,  though  the  stream  of  silken 
hair,  that  hung  dishevelled  over  her  graceful 
slioulders,  almost  concealed  her  exqui-ite 
countenance,  there  was  enough  of  her  visi- 
ble to  show  it  could  be  no  other  thus  stran<>e- 
ly  placed  tban  the  wondrous  dancer  of  the 
Romaica,  the  seductive  Bohemian,  the  idol- 
ized Xariqua,  whom  the  reader  lat-t  beheld 
winning  all  hearts  in  the  streets  of  Rome. 

But  what  a  change  was  here  !  She  then 
was  free  as  a  bird,  and  as  though  her  heart 
was  only  lighter  than  her  fairy  feet.  Now 
the  downcast  eye,  the  cheek  of  deathlike 
palen^^ss,  the  compressed  hp,  and  the  quick 
heaving  of  her  breast,  betokened  a  state 
feirfully  different.  What  meant  this  ?  In 
honest  truth  no  other  than  this — she  had 
sinned  against  the  laws  of  her  tribe,  and 
was  now  on  her  trial.  Her  offence  was 
line  that,  in  their  savage  code,  wis  visited 
the  most  heavily  of  all  for  which  they  sought 
o  legislate.  The  very  spirit  of  their  dis- 
tinct existence  was  an  irreconcilable  hatred 
against  all  who  were  not  of  their  blood,  and 
she  had  been  detected  in  indulging  a  passion 
for  a  stranger.  A^  her  judges  and  accusers 
were  influenced  by  one  feeling,  and  as  tiieir 
law  expressly  stated  the  crime  and  the  pun- 
ishment, they  were  not  long  in  coming  to  a 
verdict,  hi  short,  she  had  been  tried  and 
condemned.  The  oldest  man  of  the  tribe, 
a  hoiry  jiatriarch,  with  beetling  eyebrows 
and  tanned  and  shrivelled  skin,  arose  in  all 
the  dignity  of  rags  and  dirt,  and,  leaning 
heavily  on  a  long  -taff,  in  a  cold  and  malig- 
nant tone  thus  addressed  tlie  criminal. 

"  Wom.m,  thou  hast  brought  shams  and 
dishonor  on  the  Rommanee  !  thou  hast  be- 
stowed thyself  on  one  of  the  hated  Bosnee. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


n: 


Woman  !  it  was  lawful  for  thee  to  have  so 
conliicted  thyself  with  a  lover  of  that  ac- 
CLirsjd  race,  that  he  uiiyht  be  deluded, 
cheated,  and  tricked  for  thy  especial  sport 
and  satisfaction;  anl  when  thou  hadst  had 
surficient  gain  of  him,  there  was  plent}''  of 
our  people  ready  to  cut  his  throat — too  good 
a  de.ith  for  so  base  a  hound  ! — liad  it  been 
thy  comioand.  Woman,  thou  hast,  not 
sought  to  show  the  craft  of  the  Roinmanee 
in  thy  de.ilings  with  this  son  of  a  hated  race ; 
it  is  iinown  and  proved  t'l.it  thou  liast  loved 
hiai — uiay  liis  blood  be  drinii  for  dogs  I — 
only  as  thou  shouldst  love  tlie  man  of  thine 
own  pjople. 

"  It  is  provided  ijy  our  law  that  the  wo- 
man who  shall  commit  this  villany  shaU 
assuredly  die  ;  that  the  manner  of  her  death 
siiall  be  by  the  knife  ;  that  it  shall  be  done 
in  a  convenient  secret  place  ;  and  that  the 
puaisiiaient  of  her  crime  after  tliis  manner 
sh  ill,  undjr  ail  cases  and  circumstances,  be 
by  the  hand  of  her  next  of  kin." 

'  •'  Oh  !  no,  no  !"  shrielvod  the  criminal, 
looking  wildly  at  her  judges,  "  you  caimot 
be  so  inhuman — an  act  so  monstrous  cm 
never  be  intended.  I  am  ready  to  die.  1 
will  not  shrink — I  will  not  utter  a  groan. 
But  to  find  my  executioner  in  mine  own 
child — oh,  it  is  too  terrible  !  Spare  me  ! — 
have  mercy !  You  that  are  mothers,  you 
that  are  fathers,  you  that  have  seen  how  a 
mother's  heart  clingeth  to  her  own  offspring 
— I  pray  you  change  this  horrible  sentence, 
and  1  will  willingly  endure  a  thousand  deaths 
of  an-itlier  sort,  be  tliey  all  the  cruellest  that 
ever  were  devised  !" 

She  implored  in  vain.  They  who  chose 
to  take  any  heed  of  her  appeal  coldly  said, 
'•It  is  our  law  ;"  others  answered  htr  with 
curses,  and  the  rest  moved  carelessly  away. 
Then  slie  frantically  called  on  one,  and  re- 
minded him  of  such  a  service  she  had  done 
him  ;  another  she  bade  remember  lier  prom- 
ises of  returning,  on  a  tit  occasion,  some 
portion  of  the  benetits  she  had  bestowed 
upon  her ;  a  third  sh?  begged,  in  return  for 
the  securing  his  happiness  with  his  mistress, 
he  would  strive  for  her  to  get  so  intolerable 
a  sentence  altered.  They  one  and  all  mut- 
tered, "  It  is  our  law,"  and  departed  their 
several  ways. 

At  tfiis  time  two  horses,  with  rude  bri- 
.  dies  were  brought ;  and  one  of  the  savagest 
of  the  tribe  leaping  on  one,  the  criminal  was 
placed  before  him.  The  boy  noticed  in  an- 
other chapter  now  made  his  appearance, 
dogged  and  sullen  in  visage,  yet  with  a 
resoluteness  worthy  of  one  of  the  devil's 
imps.     He  leaped  on  the  other  horse,  and 


they  both  rode  through  tlie  gorge,  till  they 
c<ime  to  a  clump  of  cork-trees  quite  out  of 
sight  of  the  encampment.  At  the  foot  of 
one  a  grave  had  been  dug. 

The  poor  dancer  had  not  failed  to  use  the 
most  moving  entreaties  which,  in  her  agony, 
she  could  think  of;  but  she  might  have  as 
v,-ell  addressed  them  to  a  stone  as  to  her 
companion.  He  interrupted  them  witrt  the 
horriblest  imprecations ;  and,  alighting  at 
the  end  of  his  journey,  roughly  took  her  off 
her  seat,  and  bound  her  with  cords  to  a  tree. 
He  then  addressed  the  boy,  and,  putting  a 
iong,  sharp  knife  into  his  hand,  bade  him 
act  as  became  one  of  the  true  blood,  and 
ha  should  be  their  king,  as  his  uither  was. 
Having  said  this,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
r.'tm-ned  to  his  people,  without  attempting 
to  look  back,  or  show  any  further  concern 
in  the  matter. 

The  criminal  had  uttered  never  a  word 
since  she  had  been  bound  to  the  tree.  But 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  son  with  an  in- 
tensity of  horrible  curiousness  which  lan- 
guage can  give  but  an  exceeding  faint  idea 
of  Her  face  was  of  a  bluish  paleness,  and 
in  the  expression  of  it,  at  that  time,  was 
something  which  seen.ed  awfully  unearthly. 
There  was  no  motion  at  her  heart,  there 
was  no  color  in  her  lips ;  in  her  eyes  only 
there  looked  to  be  life,  and  it  was  such  life 
as  the  living  had  never  before  been  known 
to  have  possession. 

The  boy  remained  for  a  few  seconds  gaz- 
ing on  the  weapon  given  him  for  the  atro- 
cious act  he  was  expected  to  perform. 
Whether  his  memory  fell  back  upon  the 
numberless  proofs  of  the  deepest  and  sin- 
cerest  love  woman  ever  felt  for  her  first- 
born he  iiad  experienced,  or  whether,  as 
was  more  common  to  the  children  of  these 
singular  and  abominable  race,  he  was  in- 
sensible to  any  grateful  feeling,  and  indif- 
ferent to  the  most  sacred  ties,  cannot  be 
ascertained ;  but  the  sounds  from  the  hoofs 
of  the  retreating  horse  had  died  away  be- 
fore he  ventured  to  look  up. 

At  that  instant  he  met  the  full  force  of 
the  spectral  gaze  that  had  been  fixed  upon 
him,  and  it  made  him  start  as  thougli  ho 
had  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake.  He 
seemed  to  strive  to  avoid  it,  but  on  him  it 
had  the  power  of  fascination.  He  conid 
not  glance  aside  ;  he  could  not  turn.  He 
felt  his  feet  rooted  to  the  ground,  and  his 
eyes  drawn  as  though  by  cords  in  the  di- 
rection of  those  whose  light  he  was  there 
to  quench  for  ever.  His  arms  fell  power- 
less at  his  side;  the  weapon  dropped  from 
his  feeble  grasp.     He  felt  sick  faint,  burn- 


174 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


intr,  scorchinnr,  suffocating  ;  and  presently, 
witli  a  loud  cry,  tell  down  in  a  til  into  the 
open  (rrave  b 'lore  liiin. 

This  result  had  scarcely  been  cff^cteti, 
when  a  youthful  cavnl  er,  wlio  had,  for  some 
moments  pr.or,  been  engaged  in  making  a 
cautious  descent  froin  a  neighborinii  tree, 
flew  as  though  on  wings  to  tlie  intended 
victim;  and,  rapidly  cutting  the  cords  which 
bound  lior,  easily  placed  her,  insensible 
as  she  was,  on  the  horse  quietly  grazing 
near,  which  he  then  mounted  and  rode  off 
over  the  broken  and  tortuous  paths  that  led 
from  this  savage  scene,  at  its  fullest  speed. 

It  was  not  till  all  chance  of  immediate 
pursuit  seemed  removed,  that  the  cavalier 
ventured  to  slacken  the  pace  for  the  purpose 
of  beholdmg  tiie  state  of  his  helpless  bur- 
then. He  unclasped  his  arms,  and  looked 
on  her  face.  The  current  of  air  to  which 
she  had  been  exposed  during  her  rapid 
journey  appeared  to  have  revived  her  some- 
what ;  a  more  natural  color  had  returned  to 
her  skin  ;  she  breathed  gently  but  regularly  ; 
anon  she  opened  her  eyes ;  and  then,  with 
a  very  testacy  of  gladness,  murmured  "Er- 
berto  mio !"  as  she  gave  back  her  lover's 
affectionate  embrace.  She  then  fell  into 
another  swoon  ;  but  a  few  drops  from  the 
contents  of  a  hunting-flisk  recovered  her 
presently,  and  he  pushed  on  as  fast  as  he 
could  to  where  his  own  horses  were  wait- 
ing, where  he  arrived  just  as  the  one  on 
which  he  rode  showed  undeniable  symptoms 
of  being  utterly  exhausted  of  its  strength. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

We  came  to  Paris  on  the  Seine, 

'Tis  wondrous  fair,  'tis  nothing  clean, 

'Tis  Europe's  greatest  town  : 
How  strong  it  is  I  need  not  tell  it, 
For  all  the  world  may  easily  smell  it. 

That  \\-alk  it  up  and  down. 

Richard  Corbet. 

In  the  time  r-ought  to  be  illustrated  in 
this  veritable  story  there  was  a  worshipful 
city,  the  fame  whereof  was  bruited  far  and 
wide  as  the  abode  and  scat,  as  it  were,  of 
pleasure ;  for,  from  the  very  getting  up  of 
the  sun  to  its  lying  down,  nought  seemed  to 
bo  known  or  understood  in  that  gay  place, 
but  the  art  of  passing  time — or  wasting  it, 
according  to  some — in  the  pursuit  of  the 
most  agreeable  pastime  in  which  man  and 
woman  could  be  engaged.  This  pastime, 
be  it  known,  which  was  so  generally  en- 
ga.ged  in,  that  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor, 


learmd  and  ignorant,  the  greatest  states- 
men and  the  most  absolute  bloikheails, 
joinxl  in  it  with  a  like  eagerness,  and  each, 
after  his  own  fashion,  made  it  the  very  busi- 
ness of  his  life,  was,  by  general  consent, 
regarded  by  a  name  to  which  it  had  no  man- 
ner of  pretension.  As  in  a  great  cage  of 
monkeys  you  shall  see  every  one  of  thein 
hlching  his  neighbor's  apple  rather  than 
guard  his  own,  these  worthy  persons  took 
on  themselves  to  leave  their  wives,  or  daugh- 
ters, or  sisters,  or  mistresses,  as  the  case 
might  be,  for  any  man's  unlawful  having, 
while  they  were  dishonestly  intent  on  the 
wives,  d  lughters,  sisters,  or  mistresses  of 
their  especial  friends  ;  and  this  was  to  them 
a  source  of  inlinite  contentation,  nay,  the 
suiiumtm  honum  of  their  lives — and  the 
name  they  gave  to  this  pleasure  was  none 
other  than  '•  Love." 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  king  of  this  peo- 
ple as  much  exceeded  any  of  nis  subjects 
in  the  energy  with  which  he  embarked  in 
those  pleasant  adventures,  as  doth  a  triton 
exceed  a  minnow.  It  would  be  in  vain  to 
number  the  wives,  daughters,  sisters,  and 
mistresses  of  other  men  who  were  honored 
as  objects  of  his  particular  and  right  royal 
regard.  In  these  pleasant  alfairs  he  was  a 
merchant  adventurer,  who  had  taken  out 
letters  of  marque  against  all  and  sundry  the 
fairest  dames  and  damsels  that  were  to  be 
met  with  on  the  high  seas  of  gallantry  ;  and, 
though  he  chose  to  appear  as  a  holiday 
barge  rather  than  as  a  corsair,  he  rifled 
such  as  fell  in  his  way  as  comj)lctely  as 
though  he  carried  a  black  flag  at  his  mast; 
and  the  citizens  of  his  good  city  looked  up 
to  him  with  admiration,  assisting  him  with 
all  their  powers  to  secure  success  in  his 
several  adventures,  feeling  most  loyally  in- 
dignant when  he  met  with  any  obstinate,, 
rebellious  virtuousness,  and  triumphing  in 
his  successes  over  chastity,  modesty,  and 
the  like  sort  of  traitorous  criminalitj',  as 
though  they  felt  a  more  than  ordinary  in- 
terest in  the  prosperity  of  his  undertaking. 

The  consequence  whereof  was  that  the 
whole  city  was  continually  astir  with  every 
sort  of  entertainment  that  could  so  please 
the  fair  dames  and  damsels  within  its  walls, 
as  to  incline  their  hearts  to  share  in  that 
pastime  which  both  sexes  had  been  ])leased 
to  distinguish  with  the  name  just  mentioned. 
Dancing,  singing,  feasting,  drinking,  gam- 
bling, and  all  other  pleasures  whatsoever, 
were  in  such  constant  requisition,  that  an 
indiff.'rent  person  might  have  said,  after  ob- 
serving this  constant  hunur  of  revelry,  that 
there  could  be  no  other  business  m  the 
world.     Such  was  the  city,  and  such  its 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


175 


sovpreign — such  was  Paris  at  tlie  com- 
mencemsnt  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
such  its  popular  monarch  —  the  gay,  the 
gallant,  fond,  and  fickle  Henri  Quatre. 

It  was  about  a  month  atVer  tlie  circum- 
stance related  at  the  close  of  the  last  chap- 
ter that  the  gayest  palace  of  this  gay  city 
seemed  to  have  assumed  more  tlran  its  cus- 
tomary excess  of  revelry.  Wherever  tlie 
eye  turned  within  this  magnificent  building, 
it  fell  uj)on  evidences  of  luxury,  profusion, 
and  grandeur.  Such  carving,  such  gilding, 
such  painting,  such  tapestry,  such  gold  and 
silver  plate,  bright  burning  lights,  such  va- 
riety of  costly  raiment,  such  abundance  of 
rich  jewels,  such  dancing,  such  music,  such 
a  multitude  of  light  hearts,  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  lighter  heads,  could  be  found  in  no 
other  place  in  the  world.  And,  in  especial, 
the  principal  state  rooms  seemed  the  very 
court  of  pleasure,  where  every  one  gave 
himself  up  to  the  most  absolute  enjoyment. 
Albeit,  instead  of  the  dwelling  of  a  Chris- 
tian king,  it  seemed  the  palace  of  a  heathen 
Aspasia,  where  beauty  was  the  passport  of 
both  sexes,  and  all  qualities,  gifts,  and  in- 
joym£,nts  made  to  minister  to  tiie  gratilica- 
tion  of  personal  vanity. 

There  were  great  lords  and  great  ladies, 
great  statesmen  and  great  prelates,  great 
soldiers  and  great  wits,  one  and  all  intent 
upon  considering  themselves  under  the 
shafts  of  the  rosy  urchin  whose  arrows  are 
f)f  such  intolerable  keenness.  The  very  at- 
mosphere was  pregnant  with  vows  of  ever- 
lasting devotedness,  and  praises  of  incom- 
parable attractions — whereof  the  vows  might 
stand  firm  for  a  week  at  the  least,  and  the 
attractions  bo  deemed  matchless  for  a  dura- 
tion almost  as  long  ;  provided  always  no 
other  form  and  features  appeared  with  any 
pretentions  to  rivalry. 

The  great  lords  and  ladies  made  their 
language  to  be  less  of  the  proper  court 
phrase  than  the  proper  courting  phrase. 
The  great  statesmen  pondered  less  on  na- 
tions and  their  policy  than  on  hearts  and 
their  affections.  The  great  prelates  preach- 
ed but  from  one  text,  which  was  "  Love 
one  another ;"  and,  to  their  praise  be  it  said 
— after  a  certain  fashion — they  practised  as 
they  preached.  The  great  soldiers  chose 
one  particular  campaign  only,  wherein,  in 
besieging  hearts,  taking  captive  such  as  re- 
sisted them,  and  in  bringing  their  fair  ene- 
my to  an  engagement,  they  covered  them- 
selves with  laurels  more  than  sulRcient  to 
liave  satisfied  all  the  Cassars  ;  and  the  great 
wits  were  ever  industrious  in  the  invention 
of  sugared  poems,  pretty  jests,  choice  epi- 
grams, quaint  sonnets,  and  the  like  dainty 


goods,  upon  one  theme  only,  whereof  the 
reader  may  presently  get  acquainted  by  the 
prominency  with  which  such  brave  words 
as  "  love"  and  "  dove,"  "  heart"  and  "  dart," 
"  grace"  and  "  face,"  are  thrust  before  him. 

Filled  with  a  throng  of  such  worshipful 
good  company,  the  palace  of  the  King  of 
France  presented  a  scene  alike  joyous  and 
picturesque.  The  bravery  of  dress  display- 
ed by  both  sexes  outrival  led  the  peacock 
and  the  dolphin  in  delicate  colors,  and  in 
gold  and  gems  looked  as  though  the  jewel- 
lers of  the  city  had  scattered  their  whole 
shops  upon  their  several  persons.  They 
were  engaged  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  In  one 
chamber  they  sat  round  tables  gambling 
with  cards  and  dice,  ladies  as  well  as  lords, 
and,  perchance,  the  winnings  of  the  latter 
from  the  others  were  rarely  paid  or  demand- 
ed in  the  current  coin  ;  in  anotlier,  they 
danced  to  amorous  tunes  measures  of  a  like 
tender  character  ;  in  a  third  was  much  pas- 
sionate singing,  and  discoursing  a  mon- 
strous deal  of  fiattery,  and  a  prodigal  al- 
lowance of  scandal — the  natural  sauces 
wliicli  do  most  delight  a  court  palate.  There 
were  groups  of  spectators,  and  groups  of  gos- 
sips ;  groups  of  busybodies,  and  groups  of 
idlers  ;  groups  of  young  courtiers,  niscussing 
the  perfections  of  the  thousand-and-first  last 
new  favorite  ;  and  groups  of  old  ones,  equal- 
ly fluent  in  their  recollections  of  the  thou- 
sand who  had  preceded  her. 

Then  in  one  place  you  heard  a  sort  of 
popinjay,  with  the  earnestness  of  life  and 
death,  laying  down  the  law  resiiecting  the 
color  of  the  beard,  the  material  of  a  doublet, 
and  the  fashion  of  a  sleeve  ;  while  in  an- 
other should  be  a  throng  of  vain-glorious 
libertines,  making  free  with  tho  reputation 
of  every  lady  who  had  the  misforfune  to  be 
of  their  acquaintance.  It  is  our  business 
with  none  of  these,  but  with  a  small  party 
of  young  gallants,  who  stood  in  a  recess 
some  little  way  apart  from  the  rest,  and 
seemed  exceeding  well  satisfied  with  them- 
selves, and  inclined  to  hold  every  one  else  at 
an  infinitely  less  valuation. 

They  spoke  of  their  own  little  exploits, 
both  in  the  duello,  and  in  the  favor  of  lair 
dames,  with  a  self-exultation  that  niade  them 
appear  as  monstrous  fine  fellows  as  you 
shall  see  any  where.  There  was  no  lack 
of  names  of  great  ladies,  with  whom  they 
wished  it  to  be  known  they  had  become,  as 
it  were,  hand  and  glove,  and  they  abounded 
in  anecdotes  sufficiently  explanatory  of 
the  excellent  understanding  that  existed 
between  them.  From  this  they  took  to 
scandalous  gossip,  and  put  forth  insinua- 
tions respecting  certain  ladies  of  their  ac- 


176 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


qnaintance,  tlmt  were  exceeding  tlefanv.i- 
tory.  'i'liey  diluti'd  on  the  orgies  of  the 
H(jtL'l  de  Sens,  and  disputed  as  to  the  exact 
number  vvitliin  a  score  or  two  of  tiie  lovers 
of  its  voliipluoiis  mistress,  Margaret  de  Va- 
lois.  TJiey  made  comparisons  between  the 
last  b.itdi  of  the  king's  mistresses,  and  the 
most  celebrated  of  tiieir  predecessors,  in 
which  divers  delectable  tales  were  told  of 
the  fair  Gabrieile,  Charlotte  des  Essarts,  l.i 
belle  C(iris:ind'%  the  beautiful  daughter  of 
the  gardener  of  Aret,  and  many  others. 

One  thing  leading  to  another,  they  at  last 
began  to  discourse  of  the  appearance  in  Pa- 
ris of  a  mysterious  stranger,  whose  arrival 
had  for  so.ne  days  past  causod  the  circula- 
tion of  the  most  marvellous  stories  ever  told 
of  a  pretty  woman,  and  had  set  the  youths 
of  the  court  and  city  in  a  fever  of  curiosity 
to  know  who  and  wlmt  she  was,  anfi  whence 
she  came.  All  that  was  really  known  was 
that  she  entered  Paris  in  company  with  a 
yonng  gallant,  supposed  to  be  an  English 
nobleiu.in,  wlio  atil'cted  the  strictest  secrecy 
and  privacy  ;  that  they  lived  in  handsome 
lodgings,  without  friends  or  visiters  ;  that 
she  was  young  and  of  a  ravishing  beauty, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  a  Jewess.  This 
was  but  scant  materials,  but  it  was  suffici- 
ent to  originate  the  most  strange  and  event- 
ful histories  ever  he;ird,  even  in  a  city  so 
famed  fur  the  marvellous,  as  tiie  capital  of 
the  King  of  France. 

It  chanced,  that,  as  these  idlers  were  in- 
tent upon  their  discourse,  a  party  of  live  or 
six  individuals  in  passing  through  the  rooms 
took  up  a  position  close  to  them,  for  the  bet- 
ter observation  of  the  crowd  of  gay  compa- 
ny that  went  from  one  apartment  into  ano- 
ther. Sundry  of  these  were  of  the  courte- 
ous reader's  especial  friends  :  to  wit,  the 
noble  and  gallant  Sir  George  Carevv,  not  as 
had  b;^en  his  wont  many  a  festive  day  in 
the  glittering  chambers  of  this  gay  palace, 
with  the  fair  and  gentle  Su>anna  Shaks- 
pearc  on  his  arm,  to  whom,  to  the  huge  en- 
vy of  all  the  gallants  of  the  court,  who 
much  desired  tu  be  in  the  good  graces  of  a 
creature  so  fresh  and  beautiful,  he  bore  him- 
self with  the  tt-ndernessof  a  parent,  and  the 
gallantry  of  a  lover,  out  of  respect  for  his 
especial  friend,  her  worthy  father ;  but,  in 
close  and  serious  converse  with  that  friend, 
whose  thoughtful  brow  was  impressed  with 
an  ex|)ressujn  of  deep  sadness,  as  if  the  im- 
port of  what  he  discoursed  of  was  a  matter 
of  life  and  death. 

They  were  a  little  in  advance  of  their 
party,  the  principal  persons  of  wlioin, 
out.  of  all  doubt,  were  the  stately  Lady 
Carew    herself,    having,  on   one    side   of 


her,  in  all  the  imposing  pomp  and  vanity  of 
his  church,  a  right  reverend  cardinal  ;  but 
the  bravery  of  his  dress  fell  short  of  that  of 
his  speech,  which  did  out-compliment  the 
very  finest  words  courtier  ever  spoke.  Yet 
though  it  seemed  directed  to  this  excellent 
fair  lady  and  no  other,  she  was  wise  enough 
to  know  it  was  intended  for  her  exquisitely 
fair  compai.ion,  our  admirable  acquaintance 
Susanna,  who,  dressed  in  the  full  court  tire, 
looked  a  princess  at  the  least,  as  she  bowed 
her  graceful  head  in  courteous  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  numberless  fine  things  said  to 
her  and  of  her,  by  a  distinguisiied  grand 
duke,  who  had  the  honor  of  walking  by  her 
side.  After  these  came  certain  princes, 
marshals,  and  prelates,  having  the  new 
made  knight,  young  Sir  Hugh  Clojiton,  in 
the  midst  of  them,  in  whose  hearing  they 
rivalled  each  other  in  the  extravagant  things 
they  said  of  the  charms  of  "  la  belle  Su- 
sanne,"  who  had  caused  the  composition 
of  ballads,  ditties,  sonnets,  and  madrigals, 
since  her  arrival  in  France,  out  of  all  num- 
ber. 

As  Master  Shakspeare  and  his  attentive 
friend  passed  the  knot  of  talkers  in  the  re- 
cess, he  heard  part  of  a  sentence,  which 
caused  him  to  interrupt  some  observation 
the  other  had  commenced. 

"  A  young  Englishman,  say  you  ?"  said 
one  of  them,  in  a  tone  of  exaltation. 

"  Perdie,  that  is  well  !  These  English 
are  always  thrusting  their  insolent  preten- 
sions before  some  charming  creature  or 
other,  for  whom  a  Frenchnivin  is  her  only 
proper  lover  :  but  we  have  but  to  show  our- 
selves, and  the  intruder  is  content  to  make 
the  best  of  his  way  to  his  own  foggy  island, 
leaving  the  prize  in  our  possession." 

'^Pardimiiez  moi,  7)1011  ami,''  replied  the 
one  who  had  spoken  immediately  before  ; 
"  but  this  Englishman  is  not  to  be  so  easily 
disposed  of.  I  am  told  he  carried  her  oil' 
from  an  army  of  Turks,  who  were  taking 
her  to  the  prince,  their  sultan,  after  slaying 
with  his  own  sword  I  know  not  how  many 
of  her  turbaned  escort." 

'•  By  this  light,  these  English  are  mad  !"' 
observed  another. 

"  They  have  not  brains  enough  to  be  mad. 
Tiiev  are  only  foolhardy,"  said  one  less  cha- 
ritable. 

"  1  know  not,  gertlemen,  whether  they 
be  one  or  the  other,"  resumed  the  former 
speaker  ;  "  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  that  JMon- 
sieur  Ic  Comfe  du  Earre,  my  cousin,  having 
contrived,  by  the  most  politic  stratagem,  to 
gain  atlinittanc.e  by  the  door,  to  the  lodging 
of  this  charming  Jewess,  or  Moorish  prin- 
cess, or  whatever  ehc  may  be,  in  a  few  se- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


177 


conds  was  seen  to  make  her  exit  by  the 
window,  in  a  fashion  that  must  needs  have 
been  intolerably  disagreeable  to  so  fine  a 
gentleman." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen 
voices,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  It  was  the  pestilent  Englishman  !"  re- 
phed  the  other,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders, that  said  a  great  deal  more  than  his 
speech. 

"  Bah  !"  cried  the  first  speaker,  in  great 
contempt  ;  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  should 
have  chastised  this  rude  fellow  with  his  ra- 
pier, and  then  carried  off  his  mistress." 

"  My  cousin,  Monsieur  le  Comte  du 
Barre,  intended  so  to  do,"  answered  the 
other ;  "  but  the  Englishman,  almost  as  soon 
as  he  drew,  sent  my  cousin's  rapier  flying 
some  twenty  yards  off  in  one  direction,  and 
then,  taking  him  by  the  back  part  of  his 
embroidered  murray  velvet  trunks,  and, 
seizing  him  with  the  other  hand  by  the 
neck  of  his  satin  doublet,  sent  Monsieur 
le  Comte  dn  Barre  flying  through  an  open 
window,  some  twenty  yards  off,  in  ano- 
ther." 

At  this  the  party  uttered  various  excla- 
mations of  indignation  and  horror,  with  a 
handsome  sprinkling  of  the  newest  oaths, 
during  which  a  few  words  passed  between 
xMaster  Siiakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew, 
wliich  ended  in  the  latter  making  liis  way 
towards  the  group ;  and,  as  he  knew  them 
all  exceeding  well,  he  addressed  them  as 
his  familiars,  begging  to  be  made  acquaint- 
ed with  the  subject  of  a  discourse,  which 
could  not  be  but  of  surpassing  interest,  as 
it  rendered  them  indifferent  to  the  attractive 
scene  around  them.  Ccnirteous  pleasan- 
tries followed  on  both  sides,  after  which  he 
heard  all  that  they  had  to  tell  concerning 
the  Moorish  princess,  or  Jewess,  or  the 
grand  Turk's  favorite  Sultana — as  she  was 
described  to  be  by  his  various  informants — 
and  her  English  lover. 

'•  You  are  right.  Will,"  exclaimed  Sir 
George,  as  he  returned  to  his  friend,  with  his 
ever  pleasant  countenance  beaming  within- 
finite  satisfaction  in  every  feature.  "  These 
fine  chattering  popinjays  were  talking  of 
your  lost  sheep,  and  the  seductive  wolf  who 
had  carried  him  off." 

"Let  us  away,  Sir  George!"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspearc,  eagerly,  all  trace  of 
his  late  seriousness  disappearing:  — "  He 
hath  led  in'^  a  tine  dance,  and  hath  filled  me 
with  the  most  absolute  anxiousness  poor 
governor  ever  endured,  since,  with  my 
trusty  squire,  Simon  Stockfish,  I  have  been 
tracing  his  footsteps.  I  prythee  let  us 
away,  and  secure  him  at  once  !" 
12 


«  Not  so  fast,  friend  Will !"  replied  Sir 
George.  "  At  present  he  is  safe  enough,  I 
warrant  you ;  and  it  will  be  as  well  not  to 
disturb  his  fancied  socin-ity  till  we  have  the 
means  of  holding  him  fast  for  the  future.  I 
will  lose  no  tune  in  consulting  a  certain 
excellent  powerful  friend  of  mine,  who  will 
be  here  anon,  and  will  put  us  in  a  way  of 
securing  your  scapegrace,  and  of  placing 
his  dark  dulcinea  in  worse  than  Egyptian 
bondage,  where  she  must  needs  find  other 
pastime  than  stealing  young  noblemen  IVom 
their  proper  guardians  and  teachers.  But 
we  must  hasten  to  pay  our  respects  to  the 
crowned  majesty  of  France  ;  for,  having  ob- 
tained permission  to  present  you  both  to 
Henri  and  the  royal  Marie  de  Medicis,  his 
ill-beloved  consort,  I  should  get  myself  into 
huge  disgrace  were  I  to  allow  you  to  leave 
the  palace  without  the  necessary  presenta- 
tion, so  you  must  e'en  with  me,  my  master, 
as  my  poor  jest  hath  it,  '  Willi  nilli.'  " 

Seeing  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Master 
Siiakspeare  proceeded  through  two  or  throe 
of  the  state  apartments,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing his  excessive  eagerness  once  again  to 
get  his  youthful  charge  under  his  govern- 
ance, he  could  not  help  being  famously  en- 
tertained by  the  little  histories  his  compan- 
ion gave  him  of  the  diflerent  notables  with 
whom  he  exchanged  courtesies,  or  whom 
he  pointed  out  in  the  crowd,  as  well  as  some 
account  he  furnished  of  divers  intrigues  in 
which  the  present  favorite,  the  Marchioness 
de  Verneuil,  was  engaged  for  tiie  puqxise 
of  securing  her  power  over  the  king,  and 
humbling  and  annoying  the  queen.  Ever 
and  anon  Sir  George  would  turn  round  and 
address  some  pleasantry  to  the  daughter  of 
his  friend,  who  replied  in  a  like  spirit,  which 
caused  the  tongues  of  his  eminence  the 
Cardinal  and  of  his  highness  the  Grand 
Duke  to  proceed  with  their  sweet  phrases 
with  a  new  impulse.  The  grace! ul  ease 
and  admirable  self-possession  of  the  village- 
girl,  amongst  the  most  polished  portion  of 
the  most  polite  court  in  Christendom,  was 
not  lost  upon  the  delighted  father.  But  he 
knew  that  Nature  hath  her  nobility  as  well 
as  kings  and  queens — and  there  was  no 
finer  example  than  he  exhibited  in  his  own 
person — and  findeth,  when  it  so  pleaselh 
her,  from  the  humblest  homesteads  her 
maids  of  honor,  who  could  confer  grace  and 
dignity  to  a  palace  or  to  a  throne. 

The  courtly  throng  increasing,  the  party, 
.-lowly  making  their  way,  were  at  last  allow- 
ed to  approach  a  group  composed  principally 
of  ladies  who  were  stationed  on  a  dais,  under 
canopy  of  state,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
a  throne,  richly  carved  and  gilt,  whereon 


178 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


eat  the  proud,  majestic,  but  unliappy-look- 
iiig  Marie  de  Medicis.  The  display  of 
costly  silks  and  velvets,  embroidered  with 
gold  and  jewels,  were  here  exceeding  con- 
spicuous;  indeed,  everything  in  that  grand 
apartment  bespoke  a  scene  of  luxury  and 
inagni licence  wortiiy  the  taste  of  a  daugli- 
tcr  of  a  de  Medicis.  The  proper  officers 
having  facilitated  their  approach,  Master 
Shakspeare  was  presented  in  due  form  by 
his  friend;  but,  aklioiigh  the  queen  conde- 
scended so  far  as  to  grant  the  request  of 
the  English  ambassador,  having  subse- 
quently learned  that  Monsieur  Shakspeare 
was  neither  a  lord  nor  an  abbe  she  did  not 
at  first  think  it  necessary  to  noMce  him  be- 
yond that  very  slight  attention  the  ceremony 
permitted ;  but  his  noble  bearing  and  grace- 
ful courtesy  of  manner  did  impress  her  so 
favorably  towards  him,  that  she  ultimately 
unbent  herself  of  much  of  her  stiffness,  and 
even  honored  him  so  far  as  to  mention  in 
terms  of  commendation  his  fair  daughter. 

"  There  is  a  Queen  of  Franco  for  you, 
now !"  said  Sir  George  Carew  to  his  com- 
panion, as  they  left  the  presence.  "  She 
certainly  lacketh  none  of  the  external  signs 
of  a  queen,  but  she  hath  no  more.  All  the 
real  power  and  consequence  that  should  be 
with  the  king's  consort  rests  with  the  king's 
mistress,  who,  besides  usurping  her  state 
and  inveigling  her  husband,  puts  monstrous 
affronts  upon  her,  ridicules  her,  and  seeks 
all  she  can  to  excite  the  king's  mind  against 
her.  The  knowledge  of  this  maketh  her  to 
wear  so  grave  a  visage  :  but  it  is  said,  on 
pretty  good  authority,  that  she  is  not  entirely 
without  consolation  ;  for  that  supple  eccle- 
siastic on  her  right  hand,  the  very  reverend 
Master  Richelieu,  Bishop  of  Lucon,  hath 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  preach  to 
her,  to  her  heart's  content,  on  matters  of 
which  his  breviary  affbrdeth  him  no  text. 
Yet,  whatever  may  be  the  state  she  here 
supports,  that  with  which  the  Marchioness 
de  Verneuil  had  surrounded  herself  in  her 
splendid  apartments  in  the  Louvre,  and  in 
her  own  magnificent  chateau,  smacketh  in- 
finitely more  of  the  queen." 

As  the  two  friends  were  pressing  on  with 
tlieir  company,  a  general  murmur  of  "  Le 
Roi !  Le  Roi !"  whilst  passing  through  one 
of  the  handsomest  of  the  saloons,  announced 
the  approach  of  the  king  ;  and,  in  a  minute 
or  two,  they  beheld  a  middle-aged  man,  roy- 
ally attired,  with  a  peculiarly  dignified 
bearing  and  pleasing  aspect,  though,  to  a 
close  observer,  it  bore  traces  of  sensuality 
and  satiety,  walking  along,  leaning  fami- 
harly  on  the  arm  of  a  man,  much  iiis  senior, 
of  a  most  profound  gra\ity,  to  whose  dis- 


course lie  seemed  to  listen  with  very  little 
attention,  his  eyes  being  directed  to  the 
persons  within  his  observation,  yet  never 
resting  on  any  for  a  moment,  unless  the  in- 
dividual chanced  to  be  a  woman  with  a  new 
face, and  a  famous  handsome  one.  But  he 
was  courteous  and  affable  to  all  who  recog- 
nized him,  returning  their  courtesies  in 
right  princely  fashion,  and,  to  those  who 
knelt,  giving  his  hand  to  kiss  with  the  air 
of  one  who  strove  earnestly  to  be  consid- 
ered the  fither  of  his  people. 

"Behold  the  invincible  Henri  Quatre, 
king  of  France  and  Navarre  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  George  Carew  to  his  companion.  "  A 
great  conqueror,  truly  ;  though  his  conquests 
have  been  amongst  women  rather  than  men 
— a  great  hcM,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
former  ;  for  he  hath  often,  to  obtain  an  in- 
terview with  one  or  other  of  them,  put  the 
fortune  of  a  whole  campaign  into  jeopardy, 
and  hath  purchased  their  smiles  at  little 
loss  than  the  cost  of  a  kingdom.  His  open- 
handed  generosity,  his  indulgent  humor,  and 
his  graceful  courtesy,  seem  to  blind  his 
good  subjects  to  the  extent  of  the  evil  he 
has  created  in  France  by  the  general  laxity 
of  morals  throughout  the  country,  caused 
by  his  inattention  to  the  ordinary  decencies 
of  society.  There  is  scarce  a  barber  in 
Paris  who  would  care  to  live  in  honorable 
wedlock — there  is  not  an  idler  in  all  France 
who  hath  not  as  deep  an  interest  in  her  des- 
tinies as  his  king.  Fortunately  for  him 
and  for  France,  he  hath  for  his  counsellor  a 
man  capable  of  managing  the  state  for  him  ; 
and  equally  fortunate  is  it,  he  chooses  to 
leave  it  to  such  management." 

"  That  must  be  INhmsieur  the  Baron  de 
Rosni,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much," 
said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  It  is  110  other,"  answered  Sir  George. 
"  And  there  he  stands — the  Grand  Master 
of  the  Ordnance  and  Chancellor  of  the 
Kingdom — by  the  side  of  his  thoughtless 
master ;  in  all  honesty,  much  too  good  a 
mentor  for  so  indiflfcrent  a  scholar.  But 
the  King's  eyes  are  upon  us.  Will. — We 
must  advance." 

The  two  approached  the  King  of  France, 
who  presently  accosted  the  ambassador  in  a 
sufficiently  cordial  spirit ;  and,  when  the 
latter  presented  his  friend,  received  his  hom- 
age with  a  marvellous  degree  of  courtesy, 
and,  after  inquiring  with  much  apparent 
earnestness  news  of  Prince  Henry,  he  spoke 
to  some  extent  of  the  English  stage,  not 
failing  to  express  several  well-earned  com- 
pliments respecting  the  important  share  Mas- 
er  Shakspeare  had  in  making  it  what  it 
was.     Presently  he  returned  again  to  Prince 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


179 


Henry,  whom  he  mentioned  in  exceeding  ex- 
cellent terms,  yet  seemed  to  be  in  doubt  his 
life  would  be  e.th'r  very  happy  or  very  long. 

Master  Shakspeare  proved  himself  an  ad- 
mirable intelligencer,  and  his  pertinent  an- 
swers so  pleased  the  king,  he  continued  his 
questions — now  asking  him  of  his  travels — 
now  of  his  plays — now  of  the  fair  dames  of 
England — now  of  those  of  Italy  and  France 
— now  of  his  brother,  the  King  of  England 
— and  now  of  him.  The  conference  broke 
up  at  last,  leaving  each  very  favorably  dis- 
posed towards  the  other.  Whilst  they  were 
thus  eng:iged,  Sir  George  Carew  took  the 
opportunity  of  entering  into  conversation 
with  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Ordnance, 
to  whom,  when  the  king  was  in  deep  dis- 
course with  the  Spanish  ambassador,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  was  presented.  They  con- 
versed together  for  several  minutes,  on  di- 
vers subjects,  in  which  the  great  counsellor 
of  the  French  king  showed  how  well  he 
merited  the  reputation  he  had  acquired,  and 
the  friend  of  the  English  ambassador  proved 
Ijow  worthy  he  was  to  hold  discourse  with 
him.  Afler  sundry  courteous  expressions 
on  either  side,  Monsieur  de  Rosni  returned 
to  his  sovereign,  who  had  just  received  some 
news  which  had  thrown  him  into  an  extra- 
ordinary state  ot  disquietude.  He  kept  ex- 
claimin_r,  "  All  is  lost !  All  is  lost !"  in  the 
most  moving  tones  ;  and,  in  his  looks  and 
movements,  showed  as  a  man  suddenly  over- 
taken by  some  overwhelming  calamity. 

"  What  think  you,  Will,  is  the  monstrous 
evil  that  hath  so  moved  this  magniticent 
king  ?"  asked  Sir  George. 

"  Of  a  truth  I  know  not !"  replied  the 
other,  "  but  methinks  it  must  be  something 
very  terrible." 

'•  Perchance  you  would  take  it  to  be  the 
destruction  of  an  army  abroad,  or  a  terrible 
insurrection  at  home,  the  death  of  a  favorite 
child,  or  the  discovery  of  a  deep  spread  con- 
spiracy, the  intelligence  of  the  plague 
breaking  out  in  the  city,  or  the  news  of  its 
fairest  quarter  being  burned  to  the  ground  ?" 

"  Surely  it  must  be  one  or  other  of  these 
huge  calamities." 

"  By  this  hand  it  is  notliing  more  or  less 
than  the  knowledge  that  the  Princess  di 
Conti,  a  young  beauty,  recently  married, 
hath  ventured  to  save  herself  and  husband 
from  dishonor,  by  flying  with  him  out  of  the 
country  !" 

"  This  is  marvellous,  indeed  !"  cried  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare. 

By  this  time  it  had  become  generally 
known  how  the  King's  sudden  disorder  had 
been  created,  and  universal  was  the  sympa- 
thy for  the  royal  sufferer,  whilst  the  lady 


and  her  husband,  who  had  dared  to  evade 
the  King's  august  intentions,  were  stigma- 
tised as  traitors  of  the  blackest  die.  Several 
of  the  nobles  threw  themselves  at  the  feet 
of  their  unhappy  monnrch,  and  offered  their 
services  to  trace  the  fugitives,  and  happy 
was  he  above  all  his  fellows  who  obtained 
the  envied  commission  of  proceeding  on  their 
footsteps. 

"We  have  seen  enough  of  this,"  said  Sir 
George.  "Let  us  away,  Will,  after  your 
lost  sheep.  The  Grand  Master  of  the  Ord- 
nance hath  promised  me  all  necessary  help, 
so  that  now  it  may  be  '  the  hunt  is  up,'  as 
soon  as  you  please." 

On  this  much.  Master  Shakspeare  was 
all  eagerness  to  be  going,  and  the  party  were 
soon  afterwards  seen  leaving  the  palace,  but 
not  before  his  Eminence,  the  Cardin;il,  had 
taken  advantage  of  a  convenient  opportunity 
to  whisper  to  the  fair  object  of  his  attentions, 
a  communication  which  had  all  the  fervor 
of  the  most  devout  supplication  he  had 
ever  offered  ;  and  his  Highness,  the  Grand 
Duke,  had  availed  himself  in  a  similar  man- 
ner of  an  occasion  to  express  his  senti- 
ments, which  were  uttered  with  no  less  im- 
pressiveness  than  he  could  have  employed 
had  he  been  addressing  an  assembly  of  no- 
tables. And  the  small  crowd  of  princes, 
marshals,  and  prelates,  that  were  in  her 
train,  either  bv  look  or  speech,  ventured  to 
make  known  to  her  that  in  losing  sight  of 
her  inestimable  sweet  .society,  they  should 
lose  everything  that  gave  attraction  to  the 
place,  or  pleasure  to  the  hour.  The  gentle 
Susanna  acknowledged  all  these  precious 
courtesies,  with  an  air  of  graceful  indiffer- 
ency  and  happy  pleasantry,  and  lelt  the 
glittering  magnificoes  with  as  much  of  her 
regard  as  they  had  on  the  first  moment  of 
their  acquaintance;  which  was  of  that 
small  ness  all  the  resources  of  fractions  could 
not  give  it  quantity. 

Whilst  these  things  were  proceeding, 
doings  of  equal  import  to  this  our  story 
were  in  progress  in  a  quiet  but  respectable 
lodging  in  a  retired  part  of  Paris.  Thither 
had  arrived,  some  days  before,  a  noble  cava- 
lier, and  a  beautiful  lady  he  treated  with  all 
the  tenderness  and  consideration  due  to  an 
adored  wife.  The  young  cavalier  was  no 
less  handsome  than  liberal — qualities  that 
served  him  better  in  this  good  city  than  if 
he  had  brought  with  him  the  recommenda- 
tions of  the  greatest  princes  in  the  world. 

It  is  true  the  lady  was  of  a  dark  com- 
plexion, and  there  seemed  no  small  amount 
of  mystery  in  her  behavior  ;  but  the  people 
of  tlie  house,  like  good  Parisians  of  that 
time,  finding  there  was  a  sufficiency  of  mo- 


180 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ney,  iliil  not  tliink  it  necessary  to  tvonblo' 
tlicmselves  aljoutwliatscoiued  inox|)lic:ii)lc' ; 
in  wliicli  they  were  continued  by  llieir  lod- 
gers conversiniT  in  a  lanijnaire  of  wiiifh, 
witli  all  their  powers  of  listening,  they  found 
they  could  not  make  out  a  word. 

The  understanding  reader  will  find  no 
difficulty  in  discovering  that  the  strangers 
were  the  seductive  Eohornian  and  my  lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir.  This  thoughtless  pair 
liad  sought  such  concealment  the  more  ef- 
fectively to  enjoy  the  happiness  they,  in  their 
short-sightedness,  fancied  was  in  store  for 
them.  For  anything  in  the  shape  of  real 
happiness,  neither  their  dispositions  nor 
their  circumstiinces  allowed  ;  and,  in  a  few- 
days  alter  their  mutual  flight,  they  awoke 
from  a  feverish  dream,  with  anythinir  save 
the  entire  concentration  of  feeling  for  each 
other,  writers  have  been  pleased  to  distin- 
guish with  the  name  of  love.  Nevertheless, 
they  would  have  been  exceeding  loath  to 
admit  there  v/as  the  very  slightest  diminu- 
tion of  their  mutual  devotion. 

If  the  truth  must  be  stated,  they  were 
both  of  much  too  restless  a  spirit  to  be  con- 
tent with  each  other's  society  for  any  length 
of  time  ;  and  a  short  period  after  their  en- 
trance into  Paris,  the  retirement  in  which 
they  livetl  throwing  them  entirely  upon  their 
own  resources,  they  found  themselves  living 
after  a  monstrous  dull  fashion. 

La  Xariqua  yearned  for  the  exulting 
freedom  of  the  green  woods — the  guiltless 
intercourse  of  the  wild  family  of  which  she 
was  an  honored  member :  and  the  young 
noble  began  to  regret  the  seclusion  that 
kept  him  from  sharing  in  the  festivities  and 
revelries  that  were  going  on  in  every  quar- 
ter of  the  gay  city  in  vi'hich  he  had  taken 
up  his  residence,  lie  had  been  both  an- 
noyed and  enraged  by  the  impertinent  cu- 
riosity of  some  hair-brained  Frenchmen, 
whom  the  extraordinary  charms  of  the  Bo- 
hemian had  influenced  to  an  extent  that 
made  them  desperately  eager  for  any  ad- 
venture that  promised  her  notice  and  favor  : 
but  latterly  he  had  taken  less  notice  of  this 
curiosity. 

He  also  had  been  the  object  of  similar  no- 
tice, as  he  had  received  several  tender  com- 
munications,oneof  which,  signed  "La  Dame 
des  Roses,"  had  not  filled  to  create  a  slight 
Impression  in  favor  of  the  writer. 

He  had  all  along  behaved  to  the  compan- 
ion of  his  (light  with  the  very  utmost  devo- 
tedness  ;  but,  to  one  so  ignorant  of  anything 
in  the  shape  of  restraint,  the  comforts  and 
luxuries  with  which  he  had  surrounded  her 
Bcemed  a  poor  recompense  for  the  inspiring 
dance  in  the  free  air,  and  the  tumultuous 


plaudits  of  crowds  of  spectators.  He  began 
to  imagine  that  the  care  with  which  he  had 
kepi  her  concealed  was  unworthy  of  him 
and  her.  He  had  heard  much  of  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  gardens  of  the  Il^tel  de  Sens, 
wherein  the  gayest  company  in  Paris  were 
wont,  not  always  creditably,  to  amuse  them- 
selves, and  proposed  to  her,  by  way  of  a 
frolic,  to  go  there  disguised,  and  be  enter- 
tained with  whatever  was  worth  seeing.  A 
joyful  assent  was  readily  given  ;  and  as 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  the  way  of  admis- 
sion, he  having  a  few  days  since  received 
an  invitation,  the  pair  were  soon  promena- 
ding the  pleasant  walks  and  umbrageous 
groves,  masked  and  disguised  so  completely 
that  they  scarcely  knew  each  other. 

They  mingled  with  the  crowd  of  idlers 
that  had  there  assembled  to  kill  time  as 
agreeably  as  possible,  listening  to  concealed 
music  of  the  most  ravishing  description 
and  admiring  the  dancers,  the  jugglers,  the 
singers,  the  fountains,  the  flowers,  and  the 
trees,  that  gave  a  fairy-iike  beauty  to  the 
scene.  They  at  last  found  themselves  in  a 
path  into  which  all  the  company  seemed  to 
be  crowding,  as  if  it  led  to  some  peculiar 
place  of  attraction.  By  imperceptible  de- 
grees it  narrowed  till  it  was  impossible 
for  two  to  walk  abreast ;  and  on  each 
side  there  rose  a  wall,  as  it  were,  of  holly, 
that  seemed  about  to  contract,  till  further 
progress,  even  for  one  person,  looked  to  be 
impossible. 

The  cavalier  allowed  his  fiiir  companion 
to  precede  him.  The  path  ended  in  a  sort 
of  fairy  temple  divided  into  several  compart- 
ments. He  saw  her  enter  one,  when  the 
whole  structure  turned  on  a  pivot,  and 
placed  her  out  of  sight.  He  followed  into 
the  building,  and  found  as  soon  as  he  en- 
tered it,  that  it  revolved  with  him.  On  its 
stopping,  he  beheld  a  flight  of  very  narrow 
stone  steps,  down  which  he  perceived  his 
companion  proceeding  with  considerable 
speed.  He  followed  very  quickly,  and  saw 
her  disappear  under  an  archway,  where  an 
ascent  of  steps  brought  him  again  into  the 
open  air,  but  in  a  grove  thickly  planted  with 
trees. 

Observing  female  drapery  fluttering  in 
the  distance,  he  was  quickly  in  pursuit,  al- 
most inclined  to  marvel  at  the  sportiveness 
which  made  his  mistress  so  nimble  of  mo- 
tion, now  she  was  once  more  under  the 
friendly  covert  of  such  old  familiar  friends 
as  the  tall  trees  of  the  forest.  He  mended 
his  pace,  but  so  quick  of  foot  was  she,  that 
only  with  much  ado  could  he  keep  her  in 
sight.  At  last  he  saw  her  enter  a  building 
by  a  postern  door.     He  followed  as  quick 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


181 


as  he  might,  and  found  himself  entering  up- 
on a  long  dark  passage.  Thinking  he  might 
lose  her  in  so  strange  a  place,  lie  called  to 
her  to  stop,  but  to  nis  huge  astonishment 
receivt'd  no  answer.  He  repeated  his  call 
with  a  like  success.  He  then  hurried  on, 
not  knowing  what  to  think. 

The  banging  of  the  door  led  him  towards 
it.  He  passed  through  as  he  beheld  another 
at  some  distance  thrown  back.  In  this  way 
he  went  on,  meeting  no  one,  the  chambers 
increasing  in  the  richness  of  their  furniture, 
in  as  gr^at  astonishment  at  tlie  whole  ad- 
venture, as  a  youth  of  his  spirit  ciiuld  well 
be.  He  began  to  doubt  that  it  could  bo  his 
enamored  mistress  running  from  him  in  this 
strange  fashion.  Alas,  poor  youth  !  She 
to  whom  you  direct  your  thoughts  is  fir 
enough  away  in  a  different  direction,  well 
cared  for,  by  one  who  has  both  the  will  and 
means  ample  enough  to  secure  her  Irom  all 
others  whatsoever. 

He  at  last  entered  a  magnificent  saloon, 
with  hangings  of  the  very  richest  looms  of 
arras,  delici'lely  painted  with  the  stories 
from  Ovi  1  his  Metamorphoses.  He  made 
for  a  dcor  he  saw  belbre  hiui,  and  nothing- 
could  equal  his  surprise,  when,  on  pushing 
it  open,  he  found  himself  in  a  place  fash- 
ioned l.ke  a  bower  of  roses,  and  giving  out 
the  moit  ravishing  perfume  of  thac  daintiest 
of  flowers.  On  what  seemed  to  be  literally 
a  bed  of  their  odorous  leaves,  reposed  a  fe- 
male tigure  in  a  garb  no  less  classic  than 
seductive. 

He  gazed  as  it  were  spell-bound — scarcely 
willing  to  believe  his  eyes.  The  lady  rose 
gracefully  trom  her  position,  and  bade  him 
welcome  to  her  palace,  where  she  added 
his  presence  had  been  long  hoped  lor.  Then, 
clapping  her  jewelled  hands  thrice,  there  en- 
tered Several  nymphs  of  ravishing  loveli- 
ness, also  in  the  ancient  classic  garb,  bear- 
ing refreshments  of  the  most  tempting  sorts, 
which  they  set  before  him.  Half  inclined 
to  believe  the  whole  a  delusion,  he  tasted  of 
the  cates  and  the  wine  so  temptingly  brought 
for  his  delectation,  and  any  thing  for  the 
palate  so  truly  delicious  he  had  never  known 
before.  He  soon  ascertained  tiiat  he  be- 
held his  fair  correspondent ;  and,  recovering 
from  the  bewilderment  into  which  he  had 
at  tirst  been  thrown,  he  presently  poured  out 
a  bumper  of  wine,  and  with  a  gallant  air 
drank  to  the  health  of  "  La  Dame  des 
Roses." 

As  the  attendant  nymphs  disappeared,  he 
could  alino^t  fancy  himself  that  he  had  gone 
a  vast  way  back  ui  the  history  of  the  world, 
and  was  at  the  moment  in  classic  Athens, 


in  the  luxurious  villa  of  the  voluptuous  As- 
pisia.  Although  this  was  not  the  case,  he 
could  not  be  considered  in  better  hands  ;  for, 
as  he  soon  discovered,  he  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Margaret  de  Valois,  the  divorced 
Queen  of  France. 

The  ladies  of  Paris  were  not  more  active 
in  seeliing  new  objects  of  attachment  than 
the  cavaliers,  and  the  arrival  of  a  young  and 
handsome  Englishmm  created  as  great  a 
sensation  amongst  them,  as  his  companion 
had  done  amongst  the  <ither  se.x.  Marga- 
ret de  Valois  had  early  intelligence  of  the 
stranger's  appearance,  and  determined  to 
cajitivate  him,  if  possible.  She  toc^k  her 
measures  without  delay,  and  the  reader  has 
seen  how  far  they  succeeded.  The  Lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir  had  heard  too  many  sto- 
ries of  Margaret  de  Valois,  not  to  be  well 
satislied  as  to  who  was  his  entertainer  ;  and 
neither  his  taste  nor  his  principles  were  suf- 
hciently  vitiated  to  make  him  see  any  grat- 
ification in  an  intimacy  with  such  a  person- 
age. Nevertheless,  he  thought  it  necessary 
not  only  to  coiiceal  his  seniiments,  but  to 
behave  with  a  certain  degree  ofgillantry. 

This  had  its  due  cll(:'ct.  Alter  a  sutfi- 
cient  commodity  of  impassioned  looks,  ten- 
der speeches,  amorous  ditties,  and  the  like 
artillery,  the  regal  beauty  fancying  she  had 
made  a  sufficient  impression  for  one  inter- 
view, gave  another  summons,  which  was 
answered  on  the  instant  by  a  black  slave 
dressed  in  the  Indian  fashion,  who  was  di- 
rected to  leid  her  honored  guest  to  his 
chamber.  The  Lady  of  the  Roses  accepted 
his  murmured  adieus  with  a  glance  suffi- 
ciently encouraging,  and  he  left  her  bower 
to  all  appearance  her  vowed  servant. 

With  the  assistance  of  his  sable  conduct- 
or, he  very  shortly  made  his  way  to  a  cham- 
ber furnished  in  the  most  magnificent  man- 
ner. Vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  costly 
hangings,  richly  carved  furniture  were  pre- 
sented to  his  observation  in  every  direction, 
and  an  almost  overpowering  air  of  luxury 
seemed  to  pervade  the  chamber.  Our  young 
adventurer,  in  a  cursory  glance  he  gave  to 
its  ornaments,  saw  that  if  the  senses  could 
be  operated  upon  by  external  objects,  noth- 
ing had  been  left  undone  in  the  furnishing 
of  this  chamber  to  nuike  the  influence  as 
perfect  as  possible.  He  found  a  suit  of  the 
most  splendid  description  ready  for  him, 
and  every  arrangement  for  a  change  of  ap- 
parel worthy  of  a  crowned  head.  A  silver 
bell  lay  on  a  table  of  poijihyry  for  his  use, 
when  fie  required  an  attendant.  He  was, 
however  in  no  mood  for  availing  himself  of 
such  munificence.     There  were  some  un- 


182 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  stories  afloat  rcppectingtlie  fate  of 
certain  gentlemen  and  lords,  who  were 
known  to  have  been  the  lovers  of  Margaret 
de  Valois,  and,  with  every  disposition  to  play 
the  gallant,  he  had  no  ambition  of  following 
I  hem  too  closely.  Besides  which  he  was 
anxious  to  learn  something  concerning  his 
so  suddenly  lust  mistress,  who  had  disap- 
peared after  so  very  marvellous  a  fashion  in 
the  gardens  of  the  Hotel  de  Sens  ;  but  this 
he  knew  full  well  he  was  not  likely  to  do  as 
long  as  he  remained  in  his  present  sump- 
tuous quarters. 

By  drawing  aside  the  arras,  he  discovered 
a  window,  and,  although  the  day  had  closed, 
he  could  easily  see  that  the  chamber  was 
elevated  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet 
from  the  ground.  His  resolution  was  soon 
taken.  Opening  the  casement,  he  cautious- 
ly glanced  at  tlie  ground  beneath,  and  find- 
ing there  nothing  likely  to  impede  his  de- 
scent, he  carefully  let  himself  out  feet  fore- 
most, with  his  face  to  the  window,  till  he 
was  supported  only  by  his  hands  clinging  to 
the  sill — he  then  let  go  his  hold  and  dropped. 
The  shock  was  considerable,  but  in  divers 
of  his  adventures  he  had  had  worse. 

He  now  found  himself  in  a  deepening 
twilight,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  spa- 
cious mansion,  in  an  enclosed  space  that 
seemed  to  be  a  courtyard.  If  this  were  the 
case,  he  knew  that  high  walls  and  impassa- 
ble gates  still  stood  between  him  and  his 
liberty.  He  had  not  yet  concluded  what  he 
should  next  attempt,  when  he  heard  the 
hum  of  voices  approaching,  and  [)resently 
discerned  several  tigures  by  the  light  of 
flambeaux  crossing  the  courtyard.  He  kept 
in  the  shadow  as  close  as  possible. 

As  the  party  approached  nearer,  he  fan- 
cied he  recognised  a  voice.  He  redoubled 
his  attention.  He  could  discern  a  figure 
and  countenance  in  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  that  of 
an  English  gentleman  to  whom  he  was  well 
known,  and  whose  powerful  protection  he 
might  rely  upon.     With  him  were  several 

f)ersons  ;  but  the  majority,  from  being  in  the 
ivery  of  Margaret  de  Valois,  it  was  evident 
were  attending  his  departure  as  an  honored 
guest  of  their  mistress.  As  they  passed,  he 
heard  his  friend  say,  *'  'Tis  marvellous 
strange.  I  can  prove  he  entered  the  gar- 
dens at  three  of  the  clock,  and  hath  not  been 
heard  of  since.  O  my  life,  'tis  exceeding 
strange!"  What  reply  was  made  he  could 
not  distinguish,  but  wh.it  he  had  already 
heard  was  quite  sufficient  to  cause  him  to  de- 
cide what  he  should  do.  Stealthily  creeping 
from   hi&   hiding,  he   made   for   the   great 


gates,  which  a  gigantic  porter  was  unfast- 
ening for  the  Englishman's  exit ;  when  one 
gate  opened,  ho  watched  his  time,  and,  as 
the  man  was  pulling  back  the  other,  he 
quickly  glided  out. 

He  waited  close  by.  In  a  few  minutes, 
to  his  great  relief,  he  heard  the  sound  of  the 
horses'  hoots.  His  friend  and  his  retinue 
of  grooms  and  running  footmen  were  sweep- 
ing by  ;  when  he  called  out  his  name,  the 
latter  pulled  up  instantly,  and  the  whole 
party  stopped.  It  was  the  English  Ambas- 
sador, who,  not  finding  his  friend's  scholar, 
had  traced  him  to  the  gardens,  and,  as  he 
had  never  returned,  had  been  to  make  in- 
quiries at  the  palace,  where  he  was  assured 
by  the  chamberlain,  the  groom  of  the  cham- 
bers, and  other  domestic  officers,  that  such 
a  cavalier  as  he  described  had  not  been  seen 
there.  As  their  mistress  was  not  visible, 
he  was  returning  to  seek  the  assistance  of 
the  Grand  Master  of  the  Ordnance,  when 
the  object  of  his  disquietude,  to  his  great 
relief  and  astonishment,  unexpectedly  pre- 
sented himself  before  him. 

Sir  George  Carew  had  been  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  mansion  of  the  Earl  and  Coun- 
tess of  Pembroke,  and  was  on  such  intimate 
terms  with  the  family,  as  to  allow  of  his 
taking  upon  himself  to  play  the  counsellor 
to  the  son  ;  and  this  he  did  so  earnestly  and 
pleasantly  withal,  that  the  thoughtless 
youth  promised  to  be  guided  by  hiui,  and 
told  him  all  his  story  from  his  riight  with 
the  Bohemian.  Sir  George  knew  too  well 
the  character  of  the  divorced  Queen,  not  to 
be  fully  aware  of  the  hazard  his  young 
friend  would  run  by  remaining  in  Paris. 
He  found  him  well  enough  inclined  to  take 
his  departure,  but  felt  bound  to  remain  for 
the  purpose  of  finding  out  where  Ins  mis- 
tress had  bjen  kidnapped.  This  d;ity  Sir 
George  promised  he  would  himself  pcrt'orm, 
assuring  his  young  friend,  from  his  know- 
ledge and  influence,  he  was  far  more  likely 
of  t'le  two  to  succeed. 

The  joy  of  his  worthy  governor  at  seeing 
him  again  was  of  the  deepest  sort  the  heart 
could  have  experienced.  Master  Shaks- 
pearo  had  ever  since  the  discovery  of  his 
flight  endured  the  most  painful  anxiety. 
His  love  for  the  youth,  notwithstanding  his 
wilful  unsteadiness,  was,  as  it  were,  twined 
with  his  life ;  and  his  anxiousncss  became 
the  more  painful,  as  he  s.iw  how  impossible 
it  was  for  him  to  present  himself  before  the 
youth's  noble  mother,  to  inform  her  what 
little  heed  he  had  paid  to  the  trust  she  had 
reposed  in  him,  as  to  allow  of  his  giving 
liiin  the  slip  with  soiil-chosen  a  companion. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


183 


Having  experienced  such  deep  distress, 
there  is  the  less  cause  for  marvelling  that, 
on  the  youth's  making  his  appearance,  in- 
sfiead  of  being  severely  lectured  for  his 
monstrous  ill  conduct,  he  found  himself 
clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  faithful  fond 
governor,  as  though  he  were  a  prodigal  son 
returned  to  a  dating  father.  Nevertheless, 
having  learned  all  Sir  George  Carew  could 
inform  him  of,  he  was  in  such  a  fever  to  be 
gone,  that  he  would  give  no  one  any  peace 
till  he  had  left  Paris  far  beiiind. 

He  now  came  to  the  determination  that 
these  travels  should  end,  and  in  a  few  days 
he  was  on  the  sea,  shouting  '-Ho,  for  Eng- 
land !"  with  a  more  cheerful  heart  than  he 
had  known  since  his  undertaking  so  great 
a  charge. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Ay,  but  the  milder  passions  show  the  man  ; 
For  as  the  leaf  doth  beautify  the  tree, 
The  pleasant  Ho  wers  bedeck  the  painted  spring, 
Even  so  hi  men  of  i^reatest  reach  and  power, 
A  mild  and  piteous  thought  augments  renown. 

Lodge. 

Our  young  physician  had  now  so  long 
sojourned  amongst  the  scenes  he  so  well 
loved,  as  to  have  recovered,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, from  the  violent  shock,  both  his  moral 
and  physical  nature  had  sustained,  through 
the  abominable  villaiiyofthe  infamous  Mil- 
licent.  His  very  excellent  fond  parent  had 
tended  him  with  all  a  mother's  affection, 
and  all  a  wo;nan's  delicacy.  She  asked  no 
questions,  and  made  no  comments  likely  to 
givfi  her  son  pain  ;  but  she  had  contrived  to 
obtain  a  tolerable  correct  knowledge  of  his 
trials  and  sufferings,  and  took  heed  to  min- 
ister to  the  diseased  mind  with  that  marvel- 
lous gentle  hand  for  which  her  exquisite 
sweet  sex  are  iamous.  She  talked  inditTer- 
ently  as  it  were,  yet  was  there  in  every 
thing  she  said  a  healing  balm,  that  soon  be- 
gan to  show  its  wholesome  effect. 

With  such  soothing  converse,  joined  to 
the  healthy  inspirations  which  nature  ever 
giveth  tosuch  as  seek  her  medicinal  aid  John 
Hall  began  once  more  to  take  a  proper  in- 
terest in  the  small  concerns  of  daily  life.  He 
again  had  recourse  to  his  books,  and,  in 
studying  the  art  of  healing  others,  rapidly 
obtained  a  cure  for  himself;  albeit,  though 
the  wound  was  in  time  healed,  it  left  a  pain- 
ful cicatrice.  He  could  not  think  of  the 
peril  he  had  passed  without  a  shudder — as 
one  who,  by  wonderful  good  fortune,  is 
Baved  from  the  jaws  of  a  venomous  serpent, 


long  after  remembers  with  fear  and  tremb- 
ling the  vehemency  of  his  danger. 

It  so  chanced,  that  an  incident  occurred 
about  this  time,  which,  though  it  was  fruit- 
ful of  misfortune  to  him  beyond  any  thing 
that  could  have  happened,  by  engrossing 
his  attention,  perfected  his  cure  more  read- 
ily than  other  things  could.  This  was  the 
death  of  his  admirable  mother.  Her  only 
son  had  been  to  her  the  very  well-spring  of 
her  pure  life.  Her  late  anxiety  had  been 
infinitely  greater  than  it  seemed,  but  it  did 
not  show  itself  upon  her  delicate  system, 
till  it  appeared  no  longer  to  be  excited  by 
the  subject.  Then  she  fell  ill,  and  though 
she  was  cared  for  by  the  most  skilful  and 
tender  of  nurses,  she  daily  grew  worse. 
The  fiat  had  gone  forth,  and  it  found  her 
well  prepared,  though  it  was  a  sore  strug- 
gle to  part  from  all  she  so  dearly  loved  and 
prized.  Her  beloved  son  had  her  last  wishes, 
her  last  blessing:;,  and  her  last  prayers ; 
and  then  the  fragile  form  that  rested  in  hia 
arms  became  but  as  a  clod  of  the  earth,  ob- 
livious of  the  active  world  of  fine  percep- 
tions and  excellent  influences  that  had  so 
long  and  well  supported  the  claim  of  its  spir- 
it to  immortality. 

John  Hall  buried  her  in  the  well  remem- 
bered nook  in  the  green  churchyard,  where 
his  other  parent  had  found  his  last  resting- 
place,  and  he  went  forth  from  its  melan- 
choly memorials  with  a  saddened  heart,  it  is 
true,  but  with  a  vigorous  desire,  that  be- 
came a  joy  to  him  in  after-hfe,  to  prove 
himself  worthy  of  that  immeasurable  love 
he  had  just  seen  shut  out  from  communion 
with  mortality,  by  the  only  gates  that  never 
re-open  for  those  they  enclose. 

On  proceeding  lo  examine  the  papers  the 
fond  mother  had  with  a  careful  foresight 
prepared  in  case  of  her  decease,  our  young 
physician  found  fresh  evidence  of  her  rare 
affection.  By  the  most  rigid  economy  and 
comprehensive  self-denial,  she  had  contriv- 
ed to  save  what  he  saw  at  once  was  a  suf- 
ficient sum,  not  only  to  finish  his  education, 
but  to  give  him  a  good  start  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  in  the  directions  with  which  this 
sum  was  made  over  to  him,  he  read  what 
was  henceforth  to  become  the  twelve  tables 
of  his  law. 

As  soon  as  possible,  he  prepared  to  fol- 
low the  first  and  most  important  of  her 
wishes,  and  entered  himself  a  student  in  one 
of  the  most  esteemed  colleges  at  Oxford. 
Here  he  remained,  steadily  pursuing  his 
studies,  and  winning  the  esteem  of  the 
learned  in  that  famous  school,  till  he  ob- 
tained his  degree.  It  was  about  this  time, 
that  he  was  found  by  his  father's  faithful 


184 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Ecrvinof-inan,  Simon  Stockfish,  when  at  Ox- 
ford oil  business  of  Master  Shakspcuro. 
'J'lie  result  was  their  travellinjr  to  I^ondou 
togretlier,  whicli  journey,  tlianks  to  oinis>ion 
ot  all  atteiTipis  at  ]iolicy  from  the  over-poli- 
tic serviiisj-man,  partly  perchance  from  his 
conviction  that  his  old  master's  son  was  of 
an  ajre  to  take  care  of  himself,  was  attend- 
ed with  no  accident. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  lodging  of  Master 
Shakspeare,  he  was  enforced  to  make  his 
liome  under  his  roof,  for  no  denial  was  al- 
lowed, and  Master  Doctor  Hall,  as  he  mnst 
row  be  styled,  found  himself  in  greater  con- 
tentation  of  mind  than  a  few  months  since 
he  could  have  hoped  for,  which  he  owed  to  the 
pleasant  intercourse  of  his  excellent  friend, 
and  of  his  excellent  friend's  very  excellent 
fair  daughter. 

This  careful  friend  provided  against  any 
further  designs  from  his  vindictive  enemy, 
the  false  Millicent,  by  getting  him  appointed 
physician  to  the  embassy  in  Paris,  where  he 
shortly  afterwards  proceeded  to  iiiltil  the  du- 
ties of  his  othce. 

In  the  meantime,  there  had  been  other 
doings  connected  with  the  principal  person- 
age in  this  my  story  that  deserveth  not  to  be 
lo-t  for  lack  of  a  chronicler,  for  as  soon  as 
his  return  was  known,  so  well  was  he  loved 
of  all  who  had  any  acquaintance  with  him, 
lie  was,  as  it  were,  liesieged  with  visiters. 
Among  the  first  comers  were  that  truly 
honest  heart,  Master  Edward  Allen  and  his 
liuxom  honest  partner ;  and  whilst  the  latter 
clo.seted  herself  with  Susanna,  to  hear  the 
marvels  she  had  seen  in  foreign  countries, 
the  other  two  friends  gossipped  about  their 
own  matters  with  as  ready  an  eloquence. 
The  master  of  the  Fortiuie  spoke  of  the 
various  admirable  new  players  and  match- 
loss  fresh  bears  he  had  got,  so  confusedly 
withal,  that  many  times  was  his  friend  led 
into  asking  questions  concerning  the  famous 
brute  he  spoke  of  when  the  other  had  all  the 
while  been  praising  a  man  ;  and  when  he 
desired  to  know  wiiat  place  had  the  honor 
of  giving  birth  to  the  estimable  famous  gen- 
tleman hO'  mentioned  in  such  high  terms, 
learned,  in  some  astonishment,  that  he  be- 
heved  it  must  have  been  a  den  in  some  of 
the  trackless  forests  of  Muscovy. 

One  interview  he  had  long  looked  for- 
ward to  with  the  most  excited  feelings. 
I'erchance,  the  courteous  reader  hath  not 
forgotten  the  memorable  secret  visit  of  a 
noble  lady  to  Master  Shaks[)eare's  lodgings, 
in  the  (Jlink  Liberty.  'J'lic  hour  had  arrived 
when  be  sliould  present  himself  before  her, 
and  declare  how  he  had  fulfi  led  the  honor- 
able  ollice  she  had  induced  him  to  take. 


Many  a  time  and  oft,  when  in  far  off  lands, 
he  thought  of  the  time  when  he  should  again 
stand  before  her,  and  hear  what  estimate 
she  made  of  Ids  services  ;  but,  with  the  an- 
ticipation of  the  happiness  of  again  behold- 
ing her,  there  mingled  no  small  share  of 
disquietude,  when  he  called  to  mind  Jiow 
little  benefit  he  had  been  able  to  eliect  in 
the  exercise  of  his  office,  where  benelit  was 
so  greatly  needed. 

He  had  now  little  cause  of  congratulation 
on  that  score,  and  he  could  not  but  take  a 
heavy  share  of  blame  to  himself  for  not  hav- 
ing been  more  strict  in  the  execution  of  his 
duty  ;  but,  circumstanced  as  he  was,  how 
was  he  to  put  on  the  pedagogue  ?  He  had 
made  njany  resolutions  to  use  a  proper  se- 
verity ;  but  when  he  beheld  the  face  of  the 
offender,  alt  thoughts  of  liarshness  disap- 
peared from  his  mind,  as  the  dews  of  the 
morning  before  the  flashing  sun.  And  now 
he  was  to  render  an  account  of  his  steward- 
ship !  He  had  neglected  his  trust.  The 
want  of  discipline  tliat  iiad  previously  been 
so  marked  had  blazed  torih  in  ungovernable 
wantonness,  and  what  excuse  could  he  have 
for  having  caused  so  discreditable  a  blot  to 
be  produced  so  close  to  her  unsullied  nature  ? 

He  had  but  one  consolation.  This  wild- 
ness  arose  in  a  great  measure  from  the  ex- 
cess of  animal  S|.irits.  These  must  exhaust 
themselves  before  long,  and  then  there  was 
every  liope  that  the  i!:any  noble  qualities  he 
inherited  from  his  noble  mother  would  have 
fair  play,  when  he  must  needs  become  an 
honor  instead  of  a  reproach ;  a  source  of 
luibounded  content,  instead  of  one  of  mon- 
strous disquietude. 

The  worthy  governor  had,  as  carefully  as 
he  could,  concealed  his  feelings  towards  his 
young  charge  from  him  ;  and  though  his 
affection  would  often  burst  through  the  re- 
stramts  he  put  u])on  it,  the  other  saw  only  in 
these  displays  a  more  than  ordinary  attach- 
ment to  him,  which  it  was  impossible  to  re- 
sent. Had  he  not  found  vent  for  the  power- 
ful emotions  that  often  so  moved  him,  by 
writing  down  his  thoughts  from  day  to  day, 
in  many  a  powerful  sonnet  and  lofty  rhyme, 
he  could  not  have  worn  the  mask  so  well. 
It  was  now  more  than  ever  imperative  on 
him  to  keep  his  nature  under  the  strictest 
subjection.  The  old  Earl  had  been  called 
to  his  ancestors,  and  the  youth,  clothed  with 
the  proud  distinctions  ot  nobility,  was  in  a 
situation  where  an  evil  surmise  might  work 
incalculable  mischiefs. 

After  many  delays,  the  interview  took 
place.  There  was  now  no  longer  a  necessity 
for  its  being  clandestine ;  and,  instead  of 
creeping  in  disguise  to  obtain  the  conversa- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


185 


tion  she  wanted,  the  noble  Hdy  gave  him 
audience  in  her  own  mansion.  As  Master 
Shakspeare  was  ushered  into  the  lofty  cham- 
ber, surrounded  on  all  sides  with  the  impos- 
ing evidences  of  rank  and  fortune,  and  be- 
held the  stately  form  of  that  most  queen-like 
woman,  in  her  mourning  habit,  lie  felt  much 
inclined  to  doubt  her  identity  with  the  self- 
denying,  heart-devoted  being  who  had  so 
long  carried  on  an  untiring  war  with  her 
own  feelings.  Bat  it  needed  not  this  change 
to  i  id, tee  him  to  treat  her  with  the  most 
profoun  I  res})ect.  He  bowed  his  head  as  to 
a  shrine  of  unsurpassable  holiness,  and  his 
heart  partook  of  the  same  reverence.  A 
deep  and  eloquent  silence  was  maintained 
for  a  few  minutes.  The  lady  had  schooled 
herself  with  the  severe  disc  plino  of  pride 
and  self-respect  to  pass  through  this  ordeal 
with  a  spirit  worthy  of  her  race.  But  blood 
respocteth  no  discipline — it  taketh  marvel- 
lous little  heed  of  any  lessons  of  inward  or 
outward  apj)lication. 

Fin  illv,  as  though  determined  to  express 
one  of  the  many  sentences  that  presented 
itself  to  her,  to  break  the  embarrassing  si- 
lence, she  said  in  a  low  tone  : — "  My  son 
Herbert  h.ith  borne  testimony.  Master  Shak- 
speare. of  your  great  zeal  and  affectionate- 
ness  for  his  interests,  whilst  he  had  the 
benefit  of  your  trusty  guardianship." 

"  Truly,  it  glads  my  heart,  my  lady,  to 
hear  he  hath  been  so  good  to  me." 

"  In  truth,  he  is  ever  sounding  your 
praises.  He  loveth  you  well  indeed.  Me- 
thinks  he  hath  protited  much  of  your  proper 
teaching." 

Her  companion  could  not  in  conscience 
affirm  this. 

"  He  seemeth  to  be  well  disposed  ;  which 
is  a  huge  comfort  to  me.  I  am  wondrously 
anxious  he  should  prove  himself  deserving 
your  attentions,  and  worthy  of  his  family." 

Master  Shakspeare  was  anxious  also,  but 
had  had  reason  to  doubt  the  youth  was  in 
the  right  way  to  worthiness.  As  it  was 
utterly  impossible  he  could  breathe  a  word 
of  such  doubt  to  the  devoted  mother,  he  felt 
forced,  somewhat  against  his  conviction,  to 
affirm  that  my  lord  would  prove  himself 
every  thing  that  was  desired  ot  him. 

The  lady  had  got  so  far  with  some  effort ; 
but  here  she  came  to  a  stop.  This  lasted 
not  long,  however  ;  for,  as  though  she 
thought  silence  more  dangerous  than  speech, 
anon  she  strove  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  her  companion  on  indifferent  matters, 
the  which  he  encouraged  by  tnany  perti- 
nent retnarks  and  just  conclusions.  But  an 
uninterested  spectator  might  easily  have 
perceived  that  she  was  talking  at  random, 


and,  though  she  strove  most  earnestly  to 
conceal  her  real  sentiments,  her  emotion 
was  getting  so  eviilent,  it  was  impossible  it 
could  escape  observation.  At  last  she  seem- 
ed to  have  come  to  a  sudden  resohition,  for, 
leaving  till  her  idle  questions  and  unmean- 
ing remarks,  she,  thougli  evidently  hugely 
excited,  addressed  him  in  a  iiurried  and 
somewhat  wild  manner  : — 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Master  Shakspeare,"  said 
she,  "  to  make  one  request  of  you."  See- 
ing he  was  about  to  speak,  she  added  : — "I 
ktiovv  what  you  would  say.  Vour  assent  is 
already  on  your  tongue.  Your  willingness 
to  give  me  further  assurance  of  tlie  noble 
spirit  I  have  so  long  admired  in  you,  I  see 
and  know  how  to  appreciate.  I  am  now 
about  miking  a  great  demand  upon  it.  It 
is  a  sacrifice  winch  very  few  of  your  sex 
would  make,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  still 
fewer  of  mine  require." 

"  Be  assured,"  answered  her  companion, 
emphatically,  "you  cannot  ask  anything  I 
should  tind  any  ditliculty  in  granting." 

A  pause  of  a  i'ew  seconds  succeeded, 
which  seemed  emjdoyed  by  the  lady  in  ar- 
ranging her  thougiits  for  expressing  the  re- 
quest of  which  she  had  given  notice.  Pre- 
sently she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  cvidenrly 
laboring  under  increased  excitement,  and 
with  downcast  look,  which  seemed  not  able 
to  raise  itself  from  its  enforced  humbleness, 
"  It  is  proper  and  necessary  that  this  should 
be  our  last  meeting." 

Master  Shakspeare  seemed  to  hear  this  in 
some  surprise,  and  with  more  regret.  With- 
out noticing  him,  the  lady  continued  : — • 
'•  There  seemeth  to  me  to  be  but  one  way 
in  which  our  coming  together,  either  by 
accident  or  design,  can  be  prevented.  Whilst 
you  are  in  London,  I  can  scarce  help  my- 
self from  meeting  you  at  some  time  or  an- 
other, and  bearing  of  you  at  all  times.  I 
pray  you,  sir,  of  your  infinite  goodness,  of 
wliich  1  have  had  ample  evidence,  this  long 
time  passed,  to  satisfy  me  in  this.  I  must 
not  see  you  again.  I  am  asking  a  great 
matter,  I  am  exacting  a  serious  condition  ; 
but,  sir.  if  you  could  only  kno*v  how  vital  a 
thing  it  is  to  me,  so  noble  a  gentleman  as  I 
have  found  you,  would  not  deny  me.  I  pry- 
thee  leave  this  place,  and  avoid  where  I  am 
with  all  possible  care;  and  deem  me  not 
moved  to  this  on  light  grounds.  Avoid  me, 
sir,  avoid  me.  It  is  necessary  for  my  peace 
of  mind.  As  God  is  my  help,  it  is  a  thing  so 
absolute,  it  cannot,  must  not,  be  avoided  !" 

■  Your  wishes  shall  have  a  speedy  ac- 
complishment," rejilied  he,  striving  to  con- 
ceal his  great  emotion.  "  But  this  much 
let  me  say  before  ]  depart.     If  blessings  and 


186 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


prayers,  good  wishes  and  honorable  thoughts 
can  minister  to  your  contcntation,  be  sure, 
my  l;i(Iy,  tii:it  tliere  never  can  exist  a  more 
earnest  laborer  in  your  liappiness." 

At  this  her  heart  seemed  too  full  for 
speech.  After  a  while  she  held  out  her 
hand,  which  he  advanced  to  take.  As  he 
knelt  with  more  of  the  spirit  of  a  devotee 
than  of  a  lover  to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  she 
pressed  his  hand  eagerly  in  her  own,  and, 
snatching  it  towards  her,  covered  it  with  ca- 
resses ;  then,  muttering  a  fervent  blessing 
as  she  rose,  she  rushed  wildly  out  of  the 
room. 

A  few  day^  after  this,  Master  Shakspeare 
surprised  allliis  good  friends  and  gossips, 
by  announcing  his  intention  of  leaving 
London  entirely,  and  retiring  to  live  in  his 
native  town.  By  his  fellows  at  the  Globe 
such  intelligence  seemed  most  unwelcome. 
Since  his  return  to  England  he  had  taken 
his  place  amongst  them  as  of  old,  occasion- 
ally enrapturing  the  town  by  some  new  pro- 
duction from  his  golden  pen,  the  sttrling- 
ness  whereof  all  readily  acknowledged.  But 
it  was  not  alone  as  the  most  successful 
writer  of  the  day  that  his  character  was  ad- 
mirable. He  was  the  friend  of  all  writers, 
no  matter  how  obscure,  who  possessed  ta- 
lent of  any  sort.  He  gave  them  honest 
counsel ;  he  improved  their  ideas  by  con- 
tact witli  his  own;  he  increased  their  know- 
ledge out  of  his  own  boundless  stores  ;  and, 
after  each  several  play  had  been  by  him  and 
by  his  well  advised  hints  improved  into  an 
effective  drama,  he  took  care  to  have  it 
played  in  such  a  manner  as  to  secure  it  a 
fair  chance  of  success. 

With  the  players,  not  only  of  his  own  com- 
pany, but  of  all  otliers,  he  was  looked  up  to 
as  their  head  and  chief,  and  all  Master  Shak- 
speare did  in  the  bringing  out  of  a  play  was 
accounted  as  a  law,  which  was  well  worthy 
tlieir  observance.  If  the  tiring-room  of  the 
players  was  resorted  to  by  the  gallants  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  days,  it  became  quite  a 
fashion  in  those  of  her  successor.  All  the 
gayest  courtiers,  the  bravest  gallants,  and 
many  even  of  the  graver  sort  of  our  nobles, 
were  wont  to  be  iound  thronging  round 
Shakspeare,  either  at  the  theatre  in  the 
Blacktriars,  the  one  at  Southwark,  or  at  the 
Mermaid  Tavern  ;  and  his  lively  wit  and 
his  general  handsomeness  of  behavior  did  so 
recommend  him,  that  to  several  of  the  no- 
blest and  best  amongst  them,  he  was  on 
euch  near  terms  of  intimacy,  no  brother 
could  be  more  kindly  and  honorably  treated. 

His  circumstances  had  so  continued  to 
thrive,  that  he  had  become  quite  a  man  of 
worship  as  to  property,  having  been  able  to 


make  sundry  purchases  of  houses,  both  in 
London  and  in  Stratford.  He  had  also  be- 
come possessed  of  a  principal  share  in  the 
property  of  the  company  to  which  he  be- 
longed. Though  his  purse  was  ever  open 
to  a  distressed  brother,  and  he  did  not  fail  to 
send  atnple  remembrances  to  Stratford,  he 
might  be  called  a  rich  man.  His  affairs 
were  in  an  excellent  flourishing  state,  out 
of  all  doubt,  but  he  was  far  from  being 
happy.  The  continued  wildness  of  the 
young  Lord  Pembroke  often  caused  him 
much  uneasiness  ;  and  in  his  own  domestic 
state,  saving  only  the  treasury  of  love  with 
wiiich  the  gentle  Susamia  had  enriched  him, 
there  was  but  little  room  for  congratulation. 
Nevertheless,  save  only  a  few  admirable 
rare  verses,  wherein  he  expressed  his  feel- 
ings towards  his  late  pupil,  and  took  his 
leave-taking  of  the  idolized  object  of  his 
Secret  Passion,  he  never  gave  any  evidence 
of  complaint.  In  society  he  was  ever  the 
courteous,  gracious,  witty  gentleman,  that 
made  his  company  so  sought  after,  and  his 
discourse  so  listened  to.  It  was  only  in  the 
retirement  of  his  study,  when  left  to  the  ex- 
pression of  his  own  thoughts,  thattliey  took 
a  melancholy  and  unsatisfactory  tone. 

Among  those  of  his  old  acquaintances 
most  surprised  by  his  determination  to  quit 
the  field  of  his  triumphs,  and  the  scenes 
where  his  greatness  had  been  realized  and 
acknowledged,  was  honest  Ned  Allen.  He 
would  not  at  first  believe  he  could  have  en- 
tertained any  such  serious  intention,  and  in 
the  feelings  with  which  he  regarded  the 
matter,  he  forgot  every  thing  relating  to  the 
two  different  objects  of  his  regard,  that 
played  such  fantastic  tricks  with  his  me- 
mory. But  much  against  his  will,  he  was 
convinced  that  he  was  going  to  lose  ins 
good  gossip  and  fast  friend.  He,  however, 
proved  a  friend  to  the  last,  by  purchasing 
whatever  property  Master  Shakspeare  had 
in  London,  he  could  not  or  cared  not  to  take 
with  him. 

There  were  friends  of  a  higher  though 
not,  perchance,  of  a  warmer  sort,  who  as 
little  approved  this  retirement  of  their  fa- 
vorite. His  intention  became  talked  of  by 
the  nobles  and  courtiers  ;  and,  among  others, 
it  came  to  the  ears  of  that  gracious  young 
prince,  now  so  completely  the  idol  of  the 
whole  nation  for  his  great  virtues  and  gal- 
lant spirit.  Prince  Henry  had  oftentimes 
sought  his  pleasant  society,  and  at  each 
grew  more  and  more  to  like  it.  Since 
Master  Shakspeare's  return,  they  had  had 
muc!i  discourse  together,  the  prince  asking 
numberless  questions  concerning  of  what 
remarkable  things  fell  under  his  observation 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


187 


during  his  travels,  and  at  every  interview 
the  other  coining  away  more  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  excellences  of  his  iieart 
and  mind.  A  mutual  liking  of  thesa  noble 
spirits  had  sprung  up  betwixt  them  ;  and 
now  the  prince  was  threatened  with  the  loss 
of  his  pleasant  associate,  he  had  resolved 
not  to  let  him  go  till  he  had  been  able  to  ex- 
press his  high  estimate  of  his  character. 

Master  Shakspeare  had  tixed  that  the 
last  day  of  his  stay  in  London  should  be  the 
last  day  of  his  appearance  as  a  writer  of 
plays.  Bat  he  wished  to  close  his  London 
career  with  some  crowning  vvoriv,  that 
should  excel  all  previous  etiorts.  With  this 
object  in  view,  he  had  selected  a  subject 
that  he  had  studied  during  his  travels  ;  and 
ho  bestowed  upon  it  more  than  ordinary 
pains.  Of  a  s  irety,  the  result  was  of  the 
jnost  sterling  sort — one  on  which  the  world 
hath  stamped  its  hall  mark  of  immortality. 
What  lie  was  intent  on  was  well  known  to 
the  young  prince,  who  had  had,  at  his  de- 
sire, many  passages  read  to  him  ;  and  he 
took  counsel  with  certain  of  liis  friends  that 
the  representation  should  be  as  great  a 
triumjth  to  its  author  as  it  deserved  to  be. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  tixed  for  the 
first  perfcr.nance  of  the  new  play,  the  door 
of  the  Globe  was  bjsieged,  as  it  were,  with 
a  crowd  impatient  to  get  admittance.  Al- 
most as  soon  as  it  was  opened,  the  interior 
was  as  full  as  ii.  could  crain,  the  best  places 
beuig  tilled  with  the  prince  and  his  friends, 
and  even  among  the  understanding  gentle- 
men of  tne  pit  were  divers  persons  of  wor- 
ship, who  were  fain  to  be  content  with  what 
accominodatioii  they  could  there  hnd.  There 
was  no  room  on  the  stage  now  for  any  hue 
gallant  to  set  up  his  stool,  and  enjoy  his  pipe 
of  tobacco,  as  he  criticised  the  play.  He 
was  forced  to  be  well  content  to  take  up 
witii  standing  room  wliere  it  could  be  had. 

The  play  commenced  vviih  an  audienc 
exceedingly  content  to  be  well  pleased  ;  but, 
as  the  e.xquisite  poetry  of  this  new  creation 
fell  upon  their  minds,  their  satisfaction  grew 
upon  tiiem  until  it  burst  forth  in  loud  and 
frequently-repeated  plaudits.  When  the 
object  of  their  esteem  first  appeared,  as  the 
magician  Prospero,  it  seemed  as  though  he 
really  had  the  gifts  he  assumed,  for  he  rais- 
ed a  famous  storm  throughout  the  whole 
house ;  and  as  the  delighted  spectators 
learned  all  the  excellence  of  the  work  his 
genius  had  set  before  them,  had  sufficiently 
admired  the  tender  Miranda,  had  m.irvelle'd 
at  the  monster  Caliban,  and  had  begun  to 
love  the  graceful  Ariel,  the  enthusiasm  that 
then  manifested  itself  in  all  quarters  was  of 
the   most  extravagant  character.      At  the 


closing  of  the  play,  there  was  such  a  scene 
before  the  curtain  as  that  curtain  had  never 
fallen  upon.  Every  one  seemed  under  the 
same  influence.  Acclamations,  praises,  and 
good  wishes,  burst  from  all  the  tiiroats  with- 
in the  walls  ;  and  a  sea  of  handkerchiefs, 
and  a  foi'est  of  hats  and  caps,  were  waved 
to  and  fro,  as  though  their  owners  were 
complimenting  a  hero  who  had  gained  a 
province,  or  saved  a  kingdom. 

A  few  hours  after  he  had  broken  away, 
with  monstrous  difficulty,  from  the  hearty 
congratulatious  and  dolorous  farewells  of 
his  fellow  players  and  play-writers,  he  might 
have  been  seen  seated  at  the  festive  board, 
whence  the  remains  of  a  sumptuous  banquet 
were  being  removed,  and  surrounded  by 
some  of  the  noblest  of  his  friends,  making 
the  enjoyment  of  his  society  more  prized 
than  the  precious  wine  and  sweet  cakes  that 
were  placed  upon  the  table.  The  chamber 
was  one  worthy  of  a  palace,  and  this  most 
assuredly  it  ought  to  have  been,  for  to  a 
palace  it  belonged.  The  furniture  was  of 
the  richest,  the  attendants  numerous,  and  of 
the  royal  livery,  and  every  object  witiiin 
sight  bespoke  an  enlightened  minJ,  and  am- 
ple means  for  affording  it  every  desirable 
enjoyment.  Pictures,  bronzes,  carvings, 
armor,  books,  and  musical  instruments,  met 
the  eye  in  every  direction,  intermingled  with 
a  profusion  of  gold  and  silver  plate,  costly 
hangings  and  rich  drapery. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  was  a  noble 
youth,  in  a  suit  of  embroidered  velvet,  in 
whose  pleasing  features  and  thoughtful 
brow  the  observant  reader  cannot  fail  to  re- 
cognise that  darling  of  the  nation,  and  de- 
light of  all  who  had  the  honor  of  being  of 
his  acquaintance,  his  highness  Henry  Prince 
of  Wales.  On  his  right,  sat  Master  Shak- 
speare,  whose  right  witty  speech  had  evi- 
dently done  its  olfice,  for  the  prince  was 
attending  to  him  with  such  a  face  of  enjoy- 
ment as  bespoke  his  full  appreciation  of 
some  inimitable  jest.  On  his  left  was  the 
prince's  governor  and  chamberlain.  Sir  Tho- 
inas  Newton,  his  grave  aspect  relaxing  into 
pleasantry  under  the  influence  of  the  mirth- 
I'ul  spirit  then  ruling  the  hour. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  table  sat  the  most 
courteous  of  old  courtiers.  Sir  George  Ca- 
rew,  but  lately  returned  from  France  ;  he 
appeared  to  be  bantering  the  young  Lord 
Pembroke,  who  was  seated  near  him,  which 
the  latter  took  in  a  humor  as  if  he  was  far 
from  being  displeased.  Of  him  it  is  neces- 
sary to  add  that  he  was  as  bravely  appar- 
elled as  the  last  new  tire,  and  no  lack  of 
means  for  paying  the  mercer  and  tailor 
could  make  him.     He  was  known  as  a  very 


188 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


model  of  a  gallant ;  a  iC|)utation  hi;  to  k 
what  measuros  he  could  to  in^rjaso.  llis 
handsome  person  and  gay  a|)pearance  caus- 
ed him  to  be  no  loss  a  favorite  vvitli  the  fair 
dames  and  gentle  damsels  of  his  acqiiaint- 
ance,  than  ho  was  tho  dread  of  their  hus- 
bands and  fathers.  If  the  truth  must  be 
told,  in  the  respect  of  his  wildness,  little 
improveuient  \v;is  to  be  seen  in  Jiim  ;  and 
though  his  mind  hud  proht^'d  much  from  the 
admirable  lessons  he  had  had  during  liis 
travels,  and,  in  some  respects,  he  had  been 
awakened  to  a  clearer  sense  of  what  was 
due  from  himself  to  his  own  honorable  sta- 
tion, it  still,  much  too  frequently  happened, 
that  in  the  gratirication  of  his  passions  he 
was  eqiuilly  w.lful  and  wanton. 

Near  him  was  ths  young  Sir  Hugh  Clop- 
ton,  in  appearance  as  lino  a  gallant  as  my 
Lord  of  I'embroke  ;  my  Lord  Soiitliainpton, 
returned  from  his  exile,  and  much  honored 
at  court;  Sir  Charles  Cornwallis,  the 
prince's  treasurer,  and  one  or  two  more  of 
the  highest  officers  of  the  prince's  house- 
hold. I'hs  discourse  was  full  and  exceed- 
ing animated,  the  prince  eagerly  putting 
questions  to  Master  Shakspeare  of  his 
travels,  and  also  of  books  that  had  been 
sent  him  from  other  countries,  and  men- 
tioning what  intelligence  he  liad  had  froai 
divers  noblemen  and  gentlemen  his  corres- 
pondents ;  thereupon  Master  Shakspeare 
would  reply  in  speech  full  of  pleasant  reciil- 
lections,  nut  only  of  books  and  men,  but  of 
all  the  countries  he  iiad  visited.  His  de- 
scriptions of  scenes  were  very  pictures  ; 
and,  when  he  spoke  of  ancient  Rome,  or 
classic  Naples,  he  so  filled  his  hearers  with 
remembrances  of  their  wisdom  and  glory, 
that  his  words  seemed  to  bring  back — with 
the  memories  of  the  Caesars  and  of  the 
more  powerful  Caesars,  the  great  poets  and 
historians  whose  monuments  survive  in  all 
their  freshness  and  beauty,  whilst  those  of 
emperors,  conquerors,  and  gods  are  cruuib- 
ling  into  dust — the  classic  days  of  the 
world's  youth,  when  the  song  of  the  melli- 
fluous Ovid  was  not  less  honored  than  the 
law  of  the  imperial  Augustus.  The  dis- 
course was  greatly  enriched  by  the  appeals 
of  the  prince  to  Southauipton,  Carew,  and 
Cornwahis,  who  had  recently  been  travel- 
lers, and  could  furnish  excellent  garnish  to 
the  sumptuous  feast  their  friend  and  favor- 
ite was  setting  before  them. 

Their  prince  did  not  fail  to  fulhl  the  du- 
ties of  a  host  in  other  matt  'rs  besides  lind- 
ing  sutHcienl  subjects  for  the  convensation 
of  his  guests,  and  the  wine  having  done  its 
genial  oliice,  a  little  less  cpreinoniousness 
might  have  been  perceived  in  the  younger 


portion  of  them.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
himself  set  the  example  in  a  pause  which 
ensued,  whilst  the  principal  speaker  >vas 
doing  due  respect  to  the  rare  Malmsev  that 
had  been  placed  before  him,  by  caliinj  for 
a  song  from  my  Lord  Pembroke,  wh  >  was 
diligently  carving  an  orange,  with  his 
thoughts  wh  jre  he  had  last  seen  such  choice 
fruit  growing. 

Now,  of  all  the  accomplishments  of  this 
young  lord,  none  stood  him  in  such  good 
stead,  amongst  his  numerous  fair  mistresses 
— whose  sworn  servant  he  would  sometimes 
be,  for  a  matter  of  four  and  twenty  hours 
— as  his  very  exquisite  sweet  voice.  Whe- 
ther he  chose  to  handle  the  lute  or  not — 
which,  by  the  way,  had  miny  a  time  and 
oft  been  a  famous  letter  of  introduction  to 
him  to  the  tempting  dames  of  Italy — his 
song  was  sure  to  be  inrinitely  ridished.  The 
knowledge  of  his  musical  qualities,  to  the 
which  that  choice  musician,  Dr.  tiud,  had 
given  its  best  graces,  made  him  ever  amongst 
the  first  to  procure  the  freshest  ballads  and 
love  ditties,  and  nothing  of  the  choicer  sort 
ever  came  from  Lawes  or  Wiloye  but  lie 
was  ready  to  pour  out  its  sweetness  in  a 
moment  of  gentle  dalliance  or  of  social 
festivity. 

The  Prince's  desire  excited  loud  applause ; 
and  without  any  deiayings  or  excusings  he 
commenced. 

THE  GALLANT'S  SONG. 

1  lead  the  gallant's  pleasant  life,  who  liveth  at 

his  ease, 
Having  no  aim,  but  buxom  dame  and  dainty 

ma  d  to  jjlease  ; 
My  doublet  is  of  velvet  piled,  my  trunks  are 

gay  and  new. 
Bat  if  my  purse  be  all  the   worse,  "  Why 

what  is  thai  to  you  ?" 

To  see  me  as  I  walk   along,  it  is  a  goodly 

sight — 
No  maid  or  wife  can,  for  her  life,  but  gaze 

with  all  her  might; 
The  jewel  glitters  in  my  hat,  the  feather's  cock 

is  true. 
But  if  slie  cares  for  other  wares,  "  Why — what 

is  that  to  you  ?" 

Or  seated  at  the  social  board,  wliere  good 

wine  dotii  abound. 
Now  this  1  try,  now  that  put  by,  until  the 

room  goes  round. 
A  catch  I'll  roar  with  any  man,  and   have  my 

jest  heard  too, 
And  if  iny  gains  be  loss  of  brains,  "  Why — 

what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

Perchance,  I  meet  some  brawling  knave,  who 
givetli  mc  the  lie. 


TIIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


189 


Then  at  a  word  I  draw  my  sword,  and  at  him 

I  let  fiy ; 
I  all  my  skill  of  fence  employ  and  make  a 

great  to  do, 
If  then  give  in,  to  save  my  skin,  "  Why — 

what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

But  see  me  when  "  A  hall !  a  hall !  my  mas- 
ters !"  hath  been  cried. 

Forth  I  advance,  to  lead  the  dance,  the  host- 
ess at  my  side — 

We  foot  it  well,  the  dame  is  pleased,  and  pass- 
in;^  fair  to  vieu'. 

And  if  1  tmd  I'm  to  her  mind,  "  Why — what 
is  that  to  you  ?" 

Should  I  away  from  town  delights,  to  rustic 

folk  resort 
From  blushing  maid  (but  half  afraid),  to  learn 

her  country  sport ; 
To  couch  am  d  the  golden  sheaves,  and  hear 

the  ringdove  coo, 
But  if  you  spy  her  coif  awry,  "  Why — what 

is  that  to  you  ?" 

Thus  do  we  glide  from  youth  to   age,  like 

water  through  a  trench, 
A  game  of  bowls  to  glad  our  souls,  and  now, 

a  pretty  wench : 
New  braveries,  new  toys,  new  jests — and  thus 

our  course  pursue ; 
But   if   that   Death   should   stop   ovir  breath, 

"  Why — what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

The  applause  h'j'mg  subsided,  and  also 
the  many  pertinent  allusions  which  the 
Prince,  uiy  Lord  of  Southampton,  and  Sir 
George  Carew  gave  to  it,  Master  Shuk- 
spearo  took  the  opportunity  of  privately 
communicating  some  intelligence  to  his 
highness,  that  seem?d  to  interest  him  mar- 
vellously. The  subject  was,  th;it  noble 
gentleman,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  still  a  close 
prisoner  in  the  Tower,  whom  Master  Shak- 
speare,  at  the  direction  of  the  Prince,  had 
lately  visited.  He  was  the  better  able  to 
state  what  he  was  intent  on  without  attract- 
ing observation,  as  a  conversation  had 
sprung  up  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table, 
seeming  of  such  interest  as  to  engross  the 
attention  of  all  but  themselves.  As  what 
passed  was  so  strictly  con.fidential,  no  part 
of  it  has  been  handed  down  to  these  times, 
the  courteous  reader  must  be  content  with 
knowing  that  it  was  no  doubt  expressive  of 
the  greatest  possible  sympathy  for  the  illus- 
trious hero,  scholar,  and  gentleman,  whom 
fear  and  envy,  in  the  most  contemptible  of 
kings,  had  consigned  to  a  dungeon.  Leav- 
ing the  Prince  and  his  friend  to  their  pri- 
vacy, the  author  will  give  him  an  insight 
into  the  interesting  subject  discussing  by 
the  rest  of  the  Prince's  guests. 

"  Never  was  there  so  beauteous  a  lady 


iu  all  Paris,"  said  my  Lord  Southampton. 
"  Courtiers  and  citizens,  for  once  in  their 
lives,  were  of  one  opinion,  and  united  in 
declaring  the  pre-eminence  of  her  attrac- 
tions." 

"  r  faith  that  was  a  miracle  at  the  least !" 
exclaimed  Sir  George  Carew. 

'■  But  the  stories  said  of  her  beauty,"  con- 
tinued the  young  nobleman,  '•  were  not  half 
so  marvellous  as  those  said  of  herself.  The 
popular  version  of  her  history  varied  every 
day,  but  that  which  was  most  in  repute, 
spoke  of  her  as  a  princess  brought  to  their 
i  city  from  some  far  kingdom  in  the  East,  by 
a  youthful  Sultan  of  a  neighboring  state, 
who  had  suddenly  disappeared,  without 
leaving  so  much  as  the  slightest  clew  by 
which  he  might  be  traced." 

"1  Vvill  wager  my  George  he  had  grown 
tired  of  his  princess,  and  had  gone  to  get 
him  another,"  said  Sir  George,  merrily. 

'•  Some  were  of  such  an  opinion,"  replied 
the  Lord  Southampton,  "  bat  the  majority 
were  of  an  opposite  way  of  thinking.  They 
found  it  was  clean  impossible  for  any  man 
to  have  done  so  ungallant  a  thing.  Her 
beauty  was  of  that  e.xcessive  rareness,  he 
who  had  once  felt  its  power  could  no  more 
tear  himself  from  it,  than  he  could  have 
created  it.  It  was  the  common  rumor  that 
he  must  either  have  been  hurried  away  pri- 
vately to  some  secure  hiding-place,  by  one 
or  other  of  the  great  nobles  envious  of  his 
exceeding  good  foitune,  or  slain  outright 
and  made  away  with,  by  a  vindictive  rival, 
intent  on  the  most  villanous  courses  to  pos- 
sess such  ravishing  perfections." 

"  What,  kill  a  Sultan  !"  cried  my  Lord 
of  Pembroke,  as  he  put  a  tall  glass,  of  rare 
workmanship,  from  his  lips.  "  By  this 
hand,  he  deserveth  the  strappado  !" 

"  I  warrant  you  he  is  no  man  of  Paris," 
observed  Sir  George,  in  a  like  tone.  "  They 
prize  such  rare  birds  too  well  to  make  away 
with  one,  unless  it  might  be  by  killing  him 
with  kindness." 

"  Of  a  truth,  "tis  hardly  credible,"  said 
Sir  Charles  Cornwallis. 

"  Any  great  personage  from  a  far-off 
land,  were  he  from  the  savagest  state  of 
Africa,  is  sure  of  being  sufficiently  caressed 
by  those  good  people,  out  of  their  love  for 
what  is  new  and  strange." 

'■  This  may  be,  my  masters  ;  nevertheless 
the  young  sultan  was  nevermore  heard  of," 
replied  the  Lord  Southampton.  "  But  the 
strangest  part  of  the  story  is  yet  to  come. 
After  she  had  disappeared  for  some  time, 
and  a  score  of  new  wonders  had  in  their 
turn  outlived  the  marvelling  of  the  people 
of  tliat  famous  city,  she  suddenly  reappear- 


190 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  at  court.  Some  say  slie  had  superseded 
the  Marchioness  de  Verneuil  in  the  exceed- 
ingly comprehensive  aftections  of  the  mag- 
nificent Henri  Quatre  ;  others  gave  her  to 
the  Prince  de  Joinvillc,  and  not  a  few  to  the 
Diii<e  de  Guise;  but  tiicre  were  many  who 
insisted  on  affirming  nincli  scandal  relating 
to  her  in  connexion  with  the  name  of  the 
queen's  confessor,  the  wily  Richelieu,  to 
whom  tlioy  attributed  the  merit  of  her  con- 
version tu  their  holy  religion  from  the  errors 
of  paganism  and  the  knowledge  of  the 
French  tongue." 

"  Monstrous  !"  exclaimed  Sir  George, 
laughing.  "  What,  not  content  with  a  Chris- 
tian queen ! — did  the  holy  man  covet  a 
heathenish  princess  ?  Wiiat  very  villany  !" 

"  Be  assured  it  is  a  calumny,"  said  Mas- 
ter Newton,  who  hked  not  to  hear  the  char- 
acter of  a  priest,  of  even  an  opposite  faith, 
rudely  assailed. 

"Like  enough,"  replied  my  Lord  South- 
ampton. "  Tliey  are  not  quite  so  careful 
of  what  they  say  in  that  good  city,  that  is 
out  of  all  doubt.  But  certain  it  is  that,  for 
I  know  not  quite  how  long,  i'rom  the  high- 
est to  the  humblest,  little  was  said  except 
about  her  peerless  beauty,  her  unparalleled 
extravagance,  her  magnificent  banquets,  her 
splendid  palace,  and  her  innumerable  do- 
mestics. Nut  a  song  was  written  that  was 
not  to  her  praise;  and,  of  all  the  newest 
oaths,  you  could  only  be  in  the  highest  fash- 
ion when  swearing  by  the  matchless  splen- 
dor of  the  inhnitely  lustrous  eyes  of  the  in- 
comparable Xariqua  !" 

"Xariqua!"  exclaimed  the  young  Lord 
Pembroke,  with  an  air  of  utter  astonish- 
ment, as  soou  as  that  familiar  name  met 
his  ear. 

The  speaker  continued,  without  noticing 
the  interruption — 

"  The  crowning  marvel  is  yet  to  come."' 

"  By  this  light,  my  lord,  you  are  like  a 
conjuror  at  a  fair."  cried  Sir  George  Carew, 
very  nn'rrily ;  "  you  keep  your  greatest 
wonder  for  the  last." 

'•  Of  a  surety,  this  is  an  extraordinary 
lady,"  remarked  Sir  Tiiomas  Newton,  in  a 
more  serious  tone  ;  "  yet  she  doth  not  ap- 
pear to  have  been  a  very  creditable  one." 

"  Ah  !  Sir  Thomas,  credit  is  no  commo- 
dity in  this  good  city  we  are  speaking  of, 
replied  Sir  Cliarles  Corn  wallis.  "One  who 
hath  the  least  character  is  sure  there  of  get- 
ting on  the  best ;  and  he  that  doth  the  uiost 
unwarrantable  things,  is  more  talked  of  than 
he  iiath  the  least  chance  of  being  were  he 
one  of  the  seven  sages." 

"But  touching  this  crowning  marvel," 
eaid  my  Lord  of  Southampton,  "  which  it  is 


but  proper  you  should  have  the  benefit  of. 
Know  then  that,  after  keeping  the  whole 
city  in  a  ferment  with  lier  brave  way  of  liv- 
ing, she  suddenly  disappeared  ;  and,  after 
incredible  labor  spent  in  tracing  her  retreat, 
it  was  discovered  that  she  had  fled  to  an  en- 
campment of  Bohemians,  or,  as  some  call 
them,  Rommanees,  or  gypsies,  who  had 
scarcely  a  day  before  made  their  appearance 
in  the  neighborhood.  A  deputation  was  des- 
patched on  the  instant  to  the  peerless  Xari- 
qua, to  otier  her  two  palaces,  two  innumer- 
able trains  of  domestics,  with  permission  to 
be  twice  as  unparalleledly  extravagant  as 
she  had  hitherto  been;  but  when,  with  their 
horses  in  a  foam,  they  reached  the  sput  that 
had  been  pointed  out  to  them,  not  a  vestige 
of  a  Bohemian  or  any  other  creature  of  any 
sort  was  to  be  seen  ;  nor,  though  messen- 
gers were  despatched  in  every  direction 
throughout  the  kingdom,  and  most  tempting- 
rewards  oiTered  for  any  information  that 
would  lead  to  her  recovery,  was  any  one 
able  ever  to  get  sight  of  her  in  France 
again." 

"  A  strange  tale,  o'  my  life  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  George.  Perceiving,  for  the  first  time, 
how  closely  connected  with  it  was  the 
young  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  wishing,  with 
his  natural  good  feeling,  to  spare  him  any 
embarrassment,  besought  to  change  the  dis- 
course. "  But  strange  tales  are  the  natur- 
al property  of  every  traveller.  I  remember 
one  now " 

"  But  was  nothing  further  heard  of  this 
singular  woman,  my  lord?"  inquired  the 
prince's  secretary. 

"1'  faith,  yes,  and  in  a  manner  which  is 
not  the  least  uiarvellous  part  of  the  busi- 
ness," replied  the  young  noble.  "A  cer- 
tain French  nobleman,  travelling  on  an  em- 
bassy into  the  Low  Countries  about  a 
month  after,  in  one  of  the  towns  through 
which  he  was  JDurncying,  was  stopped  by  a 
crowd  who  were  fixed  in  admiration  on  the 
movements  of  a  woman  dancing  in  a  style 
no  less  animated  than  graceful  to  some  rude 
music.  He  stopped  and  looked  on  with  the 
rest.  The  dancer,  having  finished  her  per- 
formance, comes  to  him  for  money  ;  and 
prythee,  if  yon  can,  imagine  the  noble 
count's  consternation  in  discovering  that 
the  woman  who  in  Paris  had  enjoyed  all  the 
state  of  a  queen,  had  been  displaying  the 
graces  which  captivated  the  powerfullest 
princes  of  France,  for  a  few  coins  drawn 
irom  the  chance  passengers  in  the  dirty 
street  of  an  obscure  Fleuiish  town." 

"  An  extraordinary  change,"  observed 
Master  Newton.  "But  was  it  never  ex- 
plained ?" 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


1»_ 


Sir  George  Carew  saw  it  was  useless  at- 
tempting to  stem  the  current  of  inquiry,  and 
wisely  desisted.  The  object  of  his  regard, 
however,  had  in  a  great  measure  recovered 
the  shock  he  had  received,  and  was  listen- 
ing without  any  greater  appearance  of  in- 
terest tiian  the  character  of  the  narrative  de- 
manded. 

"  He  questioned  her,"  replied  my  Lord 
Southampton  -,  "  and  she,  after  some  liesi- 
tation,  acimowledged  that  she  was  a  Bohe- 
mian, and  was  so  enamored  of  that  wander- 
ing way  of  life,  that  she  returned  to  it  the 
first  opportunity  she  had,  and  for  no  tempta- 
tion would  be  induced  to  abandon  it  again. 
It  then  came  out  that  she  had  carefully  trea- 
sured up  the  dress  she  had  been  used  to 
wear,  throughout  the  wliole  of  the  time  she 
had  been  queening  it  so  bravely  at  Paris. 
Tlie  sight  of  this  served  to  call  iier  back  to 
tlie  free  air  of  tlie  forest,  and  the  green 
nook,  and  the  murmuring  stream,  tiiat  had 
been  so  long  her  famihar  friends ;  and, 
when  she  heard  that  some  of  her  people  had 
arrived  in  the  neighborhood,  she  put  on  her 
liumble  yet  treasured  garments,  leaving  all 
her  jewels,  velvets,  satins,  every  coin  of  the 
large  sum  she  had  at  her  disposal,  and  all 
the  lu.xuries  she  had  so  long  enjoyed,  and, 
like  a  bird  escaped  from  a  gilded  cage, 
made  off"  for  the  tents  of  the  Bohemians,  to 
fare  coarsely  and  become  a  vagabond." 

"  Was  it  never  known  why  and  in  what 
manner  she  had  at  first  forsaken  this  so 
prizf^d  way  of  living?"  inquired  Sir  Charles 
Cornwallis. 

"  On  this  point  she  would  not  give  any 
direct  information,"  said  the  other.  "  Yet 
it  was  generally  rumored  there  had  been  a 
lover  in  the  case,  from  whom,  by  some 
trick,  she  had  been  separated." 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke  was  inexpressibly 
relieved  at  this  moment  by  hearing  the 
voice  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  challenging 
his  guests  to  a  bumper.  The  subject  of 
their  discourse  was  presently  lost  sight  of; 
and,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  the  time  that 
had  been  devoted  to  conversation,  the  Prince 
took  care  that  sociality  should  rule  para- 
mount, and  healths  were  drank,  and  songs 
sung  with  unabated  spirit,  many  compli- 
ments being  paid  to  Master  Shakspeare  by 
all  the  company,  especially  by  their  prince- 
ly host,  to  which  he  responded  in  language 
worthy  of  himself,  till,  the  hour  getting  late, 
the  party  broke  up. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

See'st  thou  not,  in  clearest  days. 
Oft  thick  fbijs cloud  heaven's  rays: 
And  the  vapors  tlial  do  breathe 
From  the  earth's  gross  womb  beneath. 
Seem  they  not  with  their  black  steams 
To  pollute  tlie  sun's  bright  beams, 
And  yet  vanish  into  air, 
Leaving  it  unblemished,  fair  ? 
So,  my  Willy,  shall  it  be. 
With  Detraction's  breath  and  thee. 

George  Wither. 

He  is  great  and  he  is  just. 
He  is  ever  good,  and  nuist 
Thus  be  honored 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

There  were  merry  doings  at  Stratford. 
The  whole  town  was  astir,  as  with  a  new 
impulse.  Such  gossippings  at  street-cor- 
ners— such  visitings — such  a  commodity  of 
endless  questions,  and  seemingly  equally 
endless  answers — had  never  been  known 
before.  Mine  host  of  the  Twiggen  Bottle, 
in  attending  to  the  demands  for  intelligence 
from  his  numerous  customers,  made  his 
throat  so  dry  that  he  was  fain  to  moisten  it 
from  the  nighest  tankard  every  quarter  of  the 
hour  at  tiie  least,  to  keep  it  from  splitting  ; 
and  Ralph,  the  barber,  got  so  bewildered  by 
the  interminable  catechism  he  had  to  en- 
dure from  those  of  his  townsmen  whose 
beards  he  trimmed,  that  even  his  tongue, 
inured  to  as  much  clatter  as  the  parish 
bells,  became  at  last  dumb  from  exhaustion. 
The  baker  allowed  his  batch  to  spoil  while 
swallowing,  with  more  zest  than  his  hun- 
griest patrons  ever  felt  for  anything  of  his 
handiwork,  the  surprising  account  brought 
to  him  by  his  journeyman  and  apprentice, 
who  had  heard  the  strange  news  from  the 
chandler's  son.  The  butcher  allowed  a 
long  reprieve  for  the  bound  and  panting 
sheep,  while  he  made  inquiries  of  the  one- 
eyed  water-carrier  for  the  latest  news  of  the 
all-engrossing  subject.  The  blacksmith 
stopped  his  hammering,  and  almost  let  the 
forge-fire  burn  out,  whilst  listening  lo  the 
last  particulars  of  a  travelling  tinker.  The 
aldermen  and  burgesses,  in  their  town-hall, 
equally  with  the  humblest  of  the  beggars  in 
the  streets,  seemed  wonderfully  interested 
in  this  strange  matter. 

And  what  think  you  was  it  that  so  com- 
pletely turned  one  of  the  quietest  towns  in 
all  England  into  one  of  the  most  active  and 
talkative  ?  Of  a  truth,  it  was  no  more  than 
this  :  The  fair  mansion,  known  as  New 
Place,  which  had  remained  so  long  tenant- 
less,  that  all  hope  of  its  again  becoming  a 
dwelling  seemed  to  have  departed  from  the 


19S 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


minds  of  every  inhabitant  of  the  town,  at 
last  was  enlivened  with  an  owner,  and  tliis 
owner  was  no  other  than  their  excellent  ac- 
quaintance and  fellow-townsman,  William 
Shakspeare. 

But,  of  all  the  houses  in  Stratford  town, 
there  was  not  one  to  equal  the  amount  of 
gossippin;r  on  this  marvellous  proper  topic, 
that  took  place  in  that  of  the  merry  hatter 
and  Iiis  buxom  little  helpmate.  The  topic 
was  dear  to  both  of  them — Master  Shaks- 
peare possessinjr  their  love  and  reverence, 
to  an  extent  it  was  impossible  to  exceed; 
therefore,  all  who  had  got  any  thing  to  say 
respecting  him,  were  sure  of  a  right  lionest 
welcome  under  their  roof — always  provided 
their  speech  was  sufficiently  respectful — 
for,  if  not,  they  stood  a  monstrous  chance 
of  being  sent  out  of  the  house  faster  than 
they  came  in — a  chance  that  had  happened 
to  more  than  one,  as  the  three  inveterate 
mischiefmakcrs,  Aunt  Breedbate,  Aunt  Pra- 
teapace,  and  Aunt  Gadabout,  bad  discover- 
ed to  their  exceeding  sorrow. 

Under  this  impression,  the  kitchen  of 
Tommy  Hart  was  filled  with  visitors,  either 
desirous  of  telling  or  of  liearing  something 
concerning  "the  object  of  the  general  talk. 
There  was  Jonas  Tietape  in  his  motliest 
wear,  the  little  dogs,  as  usual,  ever  and 
anon  peering  and  yelping  out  of  his  great 
pockets,  when  any  vagary,  more  violent 
than  the  rest,  disturbed  them  in  their  hi- 
ding-place ;  and,  as  usual,  he  was  keeping 
the  company  in  an  incessant  roar,  by  the 
strange  freaks  of  his  wild  fencies — grima- 
cing, posturing,  tumbling,  juggling,  and 
singing  old  snatches  of  ridiculous  songs,  as 
though  he  must  needs  be  doing  some  out-of- 
the-way  thing  or  other,  or  cease  to  live. 

There,  too,  came  Uick  Quiney,  in  his 
roughest  suit,  full  of  strange  oaths  and  mon- 
strous unpolished  speech,  like  a  mariner  af- 
ter a  three  years'  voyage.  With  him  was 
Cuthbert  Dredger,  the  old  miller  ;  his  hair 
and  beard  and  suit  of  friar's  gray  covered 
with  meal ;  and  there  was  his  son,  in  all 
things  his  very  fac-simile,  even  to  his  style 
of  speech ;  and  there  also  was  Jasper 
Broadfoot,  the  sturdy  ploughman,  with  his 
huge  honest  face,  bearing  unanswerable 
te.stimony  of  his  extreme  satisfaction.  These, 
with  the  merry  hatter  himself,  in  a  merrier 
trim  than  ever,  constituted  the  male  part  of 
the  company. 

The  women  consisted  of  the  laughing 
Joan,  who  had  not  lost  somuch  as  anatomof 
her  overwhelming  good  nature;  her  buxom 
kinswoman,  Judith,  no  longer  the  desperate 
shrew  she  was,  for  i'  faith,  the  shrew  had 
been  tamed  so  absolutely,  that  there  never 


was  a  more  excellent  obedient  wife,  quiet 
and  modest  withalj  as  a  good  wife  shnuld 
ever  be.  With  them  was  Goody  F^)ppet 
with  a  face  like  a  harvest  moon — always 
excepting  the  matter  of  the  tri|)le  chin.  The 
two  maypoles,  starched  and  stiffened,  and 
looking  like  a  couple  of  ninepins  left  stand- 
ing alter  a  successful  cast  of  the  bowl 
amongst  their  fellows  ;  and  Peg  o'  the  Tv.-ig- 
gen  Bottle,  with  such  a  dextrous  use  of  her 
somewhat  sinister  looks,  as  made  it  mar- 
vellous she  had  not  become  a  Peg  for  some 
of  her  admirers  to  hang  himself  on  withal, 
the  which  would  most  certainly  have  been, 
had  it  not  been  thought  by  all  the  better  sort 
that  she  was  a  Peg  too  low. 

As  none  of  these  worthies  had  much  ac- 
quaintance with  the  rare  gift  of  holding 
tiicir  tongues,  as  pretty  a  confusion  of  voi- 
ces was  going  as  might  have  been  produced 
in  a  rookery  by  a  sudden  shot.  The  sole 
subject  and  object  of  this  Babel  was  the 
new  tenant  of  New  Place.  Some  of  them 
had  been  enabled  to  obtain  intelligence  of 
matters  respecting  him  and  his  establish- 
ment, of  which  the  others  were  clean  igno- 
rant, and  their  interest  in  him  would  have 
made  them  good  listeners,  had  not  their  ea- 
gerness in  asking  questions  far  oulspent 
their  patience  to  hear  the  answers.  Some 
had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  see  him  ;  and 
wondrous  appeared  the  result  of  their  inter- 
view. At  last  the  notion  seemed  to  be 
gaining  ground  that  the  best  way  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  the  strange  matters 
their  more  fortunate  associates  were  com- 
municating, was  to  allow  the  latter  to  speak 
their  minds  uninterruptedly.  They,  there- 
fore, grouped  round  the  principal  speakers, 
and,  saving  a  due  allowance  of  eager  inter- 
jections and  judicious  comments,  appeared 
disposed  to  become  respectable  listeners. 

"  To  think  that  Ragged  Launce  should 
have  been  taken  into  favor  !"  observed  the 
ploughman,  in  a  sort  of  amazement,  "  a 
thoughtless,  idle  varlet,  that  knoweth  not  so 
much  as  the  coulter  from  the  furrow  it 
turns  over." 

"  Not  so  fast,  good  Jasper,  1  prythee," 
said  Tommy  Hart.  "  Ragged  Launce  will 
not  now  answer  to  his  title.  He  hath  since 
been  styled  '  Lazy  Launce  :'  but  methiid^s 
he  shall  now  rejoice  under  the  style  of 
'  Bragging  Launce  ;'  for  he  be  ever  telling 
you  the  wonderfullest  brags  concerning  his 
adventures  beyond  the  sea,  that  can  be  con- 
ceived." 

"  He  it  is,  then,  that  is  to  look  to  the 
beasts?"  inquired  the  old  miller. 

"  By  the  bungholo  of  the  cask  of  Bac- 
chus !"  exclaimed  young  Quiney,  "  he  can- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


193 


not  look  to  one  requiring  more  looking  to 
than  himself." 

'•  Bat  commend  me  to  the  varlet  whom 
Master  Shakspeare  hath  brought  with  him 
as  his  steward,"  observed  'rommy  Hart, 
with  a  chuckle.  "  Wnen  I  said  to  him, 
'  Simon  Stoikhsh,'  quoth  I,  '  wilt  take  a 
draugiit?'  he  h.Ked  on  me  a  wonderful  pen- 
etrating look,  as  though  he  thought  my  ci- 
vility intolerably  suspicious,  and,  with  a 
grave  face,  informed  me  he  would  think  of 
it." 

"  An  ass  of  a  notable  breed,  o'  ray  life  !" 
added  Jonas  Tietape,  "  for  I  liave  good  rea- 
son for  knowing  he  thiaketh  himself  three 
parts  fox.  Nevertheless,  with  all  his  hu- 
mor of  sublcty,  the  plainest  trap  that  ever 
was  set  shall  hold  him  fast,  though  he  be  so 
on  the  guard,  he  faiicieth  snares  in  every 
body's  speech." 

"  We  Will  take  the  fox  out  of  him  befoi'e 
he  is  many  days  older,  I  promise  you,"  said 
Joan,  laugliingly.  "  I  am  no  woman,  if  1 
fail  to  make  him  stand  confessed  the  goodly 
breed  he  is,  ere  our  acquaintance  be  tlior- 
oughly  ripened." 

Aifairs  of  such  importance  soon  began  to 
be  discussed,  and  of  such  interest  too,  that 
even  Jonas  Tietape  left  off  his  vagaries  to 
take  part  in  the  conversation.  Tommy 
Hart  had  spoken  to  the  aldermen  and  bur- 
gesses about  holding  a  festival,  and  having 
all  sorts  of  country  games  in  the  town,  in 
iionor  of  their  wortiiy  Master  Shakspeare  : 
and  as  they  determined  Stratford  should  pro- 
duce all  that  was  most  attractive  in  the  way 
of  revels,  every  one  of  the  company  felt 
bound  to  do  his  or  her  best  to  afford  amuse- 
ment. The  question  was,  what  shape 
should  this  amusement  assume.  Various 
sports  were  then  thought  of,  and  each  in 
turn  discussed  ;  every  one  i^iving  an  opin- 
ion for  some  favorite.  There  were  advo- 
cates for  Coventry  Plays  :  lor  mock  tourna- 
ments; for  mummings  ;  for  a  mor.ice;  for 
a  chase  after  a  soaped  pig ;  for  a  bear  bait- 
ing ;  for  a  badger  hunt ;  for  chuck  farthing  ; 
and  for  divers  other  approved  sports  of  a 
simil.ir  sort. 

At  last  it  seemed  settled,  that  nothing 
could  be  chosen  so  likely  to  do  honor  to 
their  distinguished  townsman  as  a  play; 
and  althougii  to  other  sports  they  might  also 
have  recourse,  a  play  they  determined 
sliould  be  the  great  feature  of  the  day.  On 
this  decision  being  come  to,  Jonas  Tie- 
tape  put  himself  forward  to  arrange  not 
only  the  particular  play,  but  the  particular 
way  in  which  it  should  be  played,  and  the 
particular  persons  who  were  to  share  in  its 
performance.  Considering  they  had  got 
13 


I  neither  scenery  nor  wardrobe,  the  company 
I  appeared  less  doubtful  of  their  resources 
[than  might  have  been  expected:  but  this 
was  the  result  of  the  superlative  conridence 
of  their  leader,  who  acted  the  part  of  each 
in  turn,  showing  how  marvellous  well  it 
miglit  be  done,  alter  a  fashion  that  was  a 
marvel  indeed. 

Jonas  took  immeasurable  pains  to  in- 
struct his  associates,  who  were  not  all  of 
them  so  apt  at  their  lessons  as  they  might 
have  been.  This,  let  it  be  observed,  was 
the  lirst  of  several  meetings  of  the  same 
kind,  when  the  same  lessons  were  repeated, 
and  the  assistance  of  otner  worthies  pro- 
cured to  help  out  the  personation  of  the  va- 
rious characters  that  were  to  speak  on  this 
moLnentous  occasion.  But,  leavinsr  them 
to  arrange  such  business  in  their  own  way, 
we  must  at  once  to  higher  game. 

As  the  reader  hath  already  learned.  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  had  returned  to  his  native 
town,  a  prosperous  if  not  a  happy  man. 
Tiiat  he  left  London  with  some  reluctance 
is  e.vceeding  probable.  There  he  had 
achieved  his  first  triumphs;  had  secured 
his  best  friends  ;  there  he  had  obtained  the 
HatLcring  notice  of  one  of  the  nobl  st  of 
created  beings,  whose  attentions  were  re- 
garded by  him  as  honors,  to  which  those  of 
Czars  and  Caesars  were  empty  and  puerile. 
He  had  been  driven  forth  out  into  the  wide 
ocean  of  the  world  without  chart  or  compass, 
scores,  or  necessaries  of  any  sort  by  which 
tiie  fearless  marmer  might  contend  out  the 
hercest  storms,  and  had  found  there  a  port 
in  which  he  had  rode  at  anchor  for  many 
years  in  safety  and  honor,  whilst  others, 
seemingly  better  provided,  had  been  cast 
away. 

London  and  her  multitudes,  therefore, 
might  well  be  dear  to  him.  He  was  grate- 
ful, he  was  proud,  he  was  happy  in  the 
greatness  they  had  brought  him  ;  and  it 
was  with  a  sighing  breast  and  dimmed  eyes, 
he  left  the  crowds  of  warm  friends  and  hon- 
est admirers  its  numberless  streets  contain- 
ed. But  with  one  individual,  the  parting 
was  more  dilhcult  than  with  all  the  others 
put  together,  or  even  a  thousand  times  their 
sum  ;  and,  such  are  the  marvellous  freaks 
of  human  nature,  this  one  was  no  otlier 
than  his  quondam  scholar,  my  Lord  of  Pem- 
broke, from  whom  he  had  more  trouble  than 
every  other  besides.  It  is  not  in  the  art  of 
poor  words  to  express  the  depth  of  his  feel- 
ings in  being  obliged  to  tear  himself  from 
an  object  that  had  lately  become  the  very 
principle  of  his  life.  He,  however,  knew 
the  huge  necessity  there  was  for  this  forced 
separation,  and  with  a  swelling  heart  school- 


194 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  himself  into  a  proper  affectation  of  indif- 
ferency. 

If  there  was  regret  in  leaving  a  place  in 
whicii  he  had  been  made  so  rich  in  friends, 
thsre  was  much  of  the  same  feeling  await- 
ed him  on  liis  return  to  a  place  where  all 
he  had  known  of  sorrow  and  humiliation 
had  visited  him.  The  wound  may  have 
healed,  which  the  death  of  his  sweet  young 
son  had  created  ;  and  that  equally  painful 
blow  which  had  annihilated  his  domestic 
happiness  may  have  ceased  to  give  any 
very  acute  pain  ;  but  there  were  times  when 
they  would  not  bear  touching,  and  these 
times  the  scenes  that  every  day  met  his 
gaze  seemed  to  bring  before  him.  But  if 
he  had  his  discomforts  in  this  return  to  a 
spot  which,  whatever  of  pain  or  disappoint- 
ment there  was  with  it,  he  had  his  pleasures 
also  ;  the  satisfaction  which  his  coming  to 
dwell  among  his  townsmen  gave  to  one  and 
all,  tilled  him  with  a  peculiar  satistaction. 
For  the  rude  but  honest  affection  of  the  com- 
pany that  assembled  in  the  kitchen  of  Tom- 
my Hart,  he  had  a  deeper  sympathy  than 
for  his  popularity  with  the  gay  butterllies  of 
the  court  of  King  James. 

But  the  great  source  of  his  gratification 
was  his  most  admirable  fair  daughter.  Su- 
sanna had  become  his  companion  and  friend. 
With  her  ho  was  wont  to  visit  the  old  fami- 
liar faces  that  had  haunted  him  so  often  in 
his  dreams — the  favorite  walks,  and  views, 
and  resting-places  in  and  about  Stratford, 
where,  during  the  vernal  spring  of  his  fruit- 
ful life,  lie  had  learned  so  many  lessons  of 
beauty,  purity,  and  love,  that  he  had  siuce 
reproduced  in  materials  as  indestructible 
as  the  pyramids,  and  as  intelligent  as  the 
stars. 

She  gave  earnest  attentiveness  to  all  such 
reminiscences — they  were  to  her  as  the  re- 
velations of  an  oracle.  But  at  times  he 
felt  somewhat  disappointed  in  her  hearing. 
It  was  kind,  considerate,  soothing,  full  of 
exquisite  comfort  and  ci insolation  :  but  a 
sensible  change  seemed  lately  to  have  pass- 
ed over  her.  She  was  no  longer  the  crea- 
ture of  life  and  light  he  had  seen  her  at  the 
French  Court.  Perhaps,  thought  he,  she 
cannot  reconcile  herself  to  the  sudden  alte- 
ration of  her  position — from  being  one  of 
the  brightest  ornaments  of  the  brilliant 
court  of  Henri  Quatre,  where  all  eyes 
were  upon  her  and  all  hearts  at  her  devo- 
tion, to  be  the  repository  of  melancholy 
thoughts,  and  receive  no  otlier  courtesies 
than  might  fall  from  a  solitary  in  a  small 
provincial  town  in  England.  He  enter- 
tained some  hopes  that  this  gloom  might  be 
removed  in  due  course  of  time.     Ho  would 


take  care  to  secure  her  amusement  and  so- 
ciety more  worthy  of  her  time  of  life. 

Poor  Susanna  !  There  was  indeed  a 
change  in  her.  Her  buoyant  nature,  that, 
like  the  brighter  glories  of  tlie  sky,  came 
upon  your  vision  floating  in  an  atmosphere 
of  its  own  light,  had  received  so  rude  a 
shock,  that  nothing  but  the  posses.--iun  of 
that  steadfastedness  of  spirit,  which,  in  per- 
sons so  excellently  disposed,  bears  up  against 
the  rudest  shock  of  evil,  could  have  ena- 
bled her  to  keep  her  proper  place,  and  re- 
tain her  proper  part.  A  settled  melancholy 
had  possessed  her — the  light  and  grace- 
ful gaiety,  which  had  thrown  around  her 
natural  gentleness  and  modesty  so  winning 
a  charm,  had  given  way  to  a  gravity  almost 
solemn.  But  it  was  not  any  yearning  after 
the  lost  splendors  of  Paris  life,  tiiat  had 
created  in  her  so  painful  a  gravity.  Of  a 
truth,  so  far  irom  it,  she  was  right  glad 
she  was  well  quit  of  the  place,  and  all  its 
hollow  pleasures.  Nor  would  the  sunshine, 
which  her  courteous  admirer.  Sir  George 
Carew,  was  preparing  to  fling  across  her 
patti,  penetrate,  to  the  slightest  extent,  the 
deep  shadow  by  which,  in  her  idea,  she  was 
surrounded. 

What  had  caused  this  shadow  to  fall 
there  was  no  telling — the  discreet  Susanna 
kept  a  strict  silence.  Her  father  asked  her 
no  questions.  His  quick  eye  perceived  the 
change,  but  mistook  the  cause.  Yet,  had 
this  been  otherwise,  he  respected  her  too 
much  to  have  attempted  to  pry  into  a  secret 
she  seemed  inclined  to  preserve. 

On  her  part,  whatever  gloom  may  have 
overspread  her  mind,  she  felt  bound  to  con- 
ceal it  as  much  as  possible  from  her  indul- 
gent parent,  and  ofttimes  took  upon  herself 
the  humor  of  pleasantry,  as  if  she  had  not 
a  care  she  need  trouble  herself  about.  She 
appeared  to  take  a  sensible  interest  in  the 
approaching  re\els,  and  put  some  touch  of 
liveliness  upon  her  s])eecii,  whilst  she  des- 
canted on  the  infinite  pleasure  it  would 
afford  to  the  worthy  people  of  all  the  neigh- 
boring villages.  Nevertheless,  she  would 
have  liked  nothing  so  well  as  hearing  it 
abandoned — or  that  she  could  in  any  way 
escape  appearing  there.  Yet,  of  all  strange 
matters,  this  seemed  the  most  unaccounta- 
ble— for,  next  to  her  father,  whom  she  re- 
verenced above  all  human  creatures,  and 
loved  with  an  aftectionateness  akin  to  wor- 
ship, she  regarded  the  gallant  Sir  George 
Carew,  and  his  equally  kind  and  conside- 
rate lady,  who  had  been  active  in  planning 
and  settling  all  the  necessary  arrangements. 

Far  and  near,  for  many  miles,  these  ap- 
proaching revels  had  become  the  favorite 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


195 


theme  of  every  idle  tongue.  As  the  day 
they  were  to  be  held  drew  near,  there  was 
no  subject  so  generally  discussed,  and  every 
one  seemed  to  be  making  extraordinary 
preparations  for  a  visit  to  Stratford. 

At  Shottery  this  was  especially  the  case  ; 
and,  at  the  cottage,  the  three  aunts  seemed 
to  be  talking  themselves  into  a  fever.  Aunt 
Gadibout  had  been  to  Welford  Wake,  to 
Bidford  Whitsun  Ale,  to  a  hurling  at  Fui- 
brooke,  to  a  wedding  at  Charlcote,  and  to  a 
christening  at  Bidford  ;  yet  she  looked  for- 
ward to  her  jaunt  to  Stratford  as  to  a  plea- 
sure that  Cometh  but  once  in  a  way.  Aunt 
Prateapace  had  heard  a  world  and  all  of 
gossip  concerning  Giles  of  Binton  and  the 
parson's  maid  ;  had  managed  to  get  even 
on  the  right  scent  respecting  the  secret 
visits  of  Tom  the  Piper,  to  the  widow  at 
Bardon  Hill ;  and  had  ferretted  out  the  rea- 
son why  the  young  squire  went  so  fre- 
quently to  Wcllesbourn  Wood  ;  neverthe- 
less, her  talk  was  all  of  Stratford,  of  what 
was  doing,  and  what  was  to  be  done.  Aunt 
Brcedbate  ceased  to  inveigh  against  the 
horrible  tyranny  of  Batch,  the  baker,  to  his 
prentices,  though  she  had  succeeded  in  per- 
suading the  latter  that  they  were  monstrous- 
ly ill-used,  because  they  had  puddings,  no 
more  than  thrice  a  week;  and  made  no 
boast  of  having  caused  her  neighbor. 
Hunks,  the  carrier,  to  turn  his  only  son  out 
of  doors  ;  she,  too,  could  tind  no  other  mat- 
ter for  speech  than  all  that  she  knew  or 
guessed  of  Stratford  Revels,  in  which  she 
quarrelled  with  her  sisters  no  more  than 
some  half  score  times  daring  the  hour. 

The  old  and  favorite  source  of  their 
united  mischief-making  and  bickerings, 
hugely  to  their  discontent,  they  had  for  some 
time  past  been  denied.  Their  kinswoman 
would  hear  no  more  of  their  meddling  in 
anything  that  related  either  to  her  "  villa- 
nous  husband,"  or  her  "  horrible  infamous 
children."  Indeed  a  marvellous  change 
had  taken  place  in  her.  She  remained  at 
Iiome  from  morn  till  eve — took  no  concern 
in  the  affairs  of  tho^e  around  her,  and  cared 
not  for  the  visits  of  any  of  her  gossips  ;  the 
more  especially  for  those  of  her  loving  aunts. 
No  one  knew  but  herself  how  the  weary 
hours  were  employed  ;  but  it  might  have 
been  guessed  tliat  they  were  none  so  plea- 
sant, as  iicr  looks  were  not  those  of  one 
whose  privacy  was  happiness.  She  would 
not  be  induced  to  go  to  Stratford,  but  let 
her  kinswouien  depart  without  her  ;  and 
then  shut  herself  in  her  chamber,  in  the 
same  gloomy  humor  in  which,  of  late,  she 
was  comuionly  to  be  found. 

Bright  gleamed  the  golden  sunshine  on 
the  day  of  the  Stratford  Revels,  and  from  i 


every  village  and  townfor  miles  round — not 
only  from  Bidford,  Wixford,  Exhall,  Aices- 
ter,  Great  Alne,  Aston-Cantlow,  Snitler- 
lield,  Barford,  and  Wasperton — a  distance 
of  some  five  or  six  miles  or  so — but  even 
from  Evesham,  Warwick,  Coventry,  and 
Worcester,  from  ten  to  thirty  miles,  came 
horsemen,  ay,  and  divers  stout  footmen,  to 
enjoy  the  sports  tiiat  had  so  long  been  talked 
of  over  the  whole  country.  Tliey  came 
pouring  into  the  town  in  every  accessible 
direction,  but  over  Clopton  Bridge  they 
pressed  like  an  invading  army.  They  passed 
under  the  famous  triumphal  arches  made  of 
flowers  and  evergreens,  which  had  been 
ei'ected  at  the  bidding  of  the  corporation 
across  the  principal  streets,  where  as  fa- 
mous companies  of  musicians  as  all  War- 
wickshire could  produce  were  stationed, 
making  such  a  glorious  piping,  trumpeting, 
and  drununing,  as  none  ever  heard  before. 
Much  they  talked  as  they  passed  along, 
concerning  that  marvellous  man,  for  whom 
fortune  and  fame  had  done  such  wondrous 
things,  and  of  whom  every  group  possessed 
some  one  or  more  who  could,  of  his  own 
knowledge,  testify  to  the  strangest  matters 
that  ever  befel  one  of  mortal  nature.  Be 
sure  they  had  scores  of  eager  listeners.  He 
who  could  tell  some  unheard-of  tale  of  his 
estimation  among  great  lords  and  princes, 
of  which  he  had  lumself  seen  ample  war- 
rant, ensured  for  himself  the  consequence  of 
their  chief  and  director  during  tlie  rest  of  the 
journey  ;  but  he  whom  chance  and  a  good 
memory  had  furnished  recollections  of  cer- 
tain glorious  plays,  seen  in  London  or  else- 
where, was  regarded  by  his  associates,  from 
that  time  forward,  as  a  friend  to  be  jjroud  of. 

The  high  bailiff,  with  the  powerful  back- 
ing of  Sir  George  Carew,  had  taken  espe- 
cial care  that  due  provision  should  be  made 
for  the  sustenance  and  refreshment  of  all 
comers  during  the  day.  Nearly  every 
house  had  a  bush  over  the  door,  where  a 
good  draught  ot  ale  or  cider  miglit  be  liad 
almost  for  the  asking  ;  and  there  had  been 
more  boiling,  roasting,  and  baking  in  the 
town,  during  the  last  three  days,  then  had 
been  for  a  full  twelve  months  passed  :  so 
that  he  that  was  tired,  athirst,  or  ahungered, 
had  only  to  turn  into  the  first  open  door,  and 
might  be  sure  of  getting  all  he  desired. 

For  the  gentry,  other  arrangements  had 
been  made.  New  Place  had  been  so  rarely 
garnished  with  green  boughs  and  gay  flow- 
ers, that  not  a  foot  of  the  front  could  be 
seen  ;  and  within  was  the  same  dainty  dis- 
play in  every  possible  direction  :  for  the 
which  gay  work  the  humblest  poor  person, 
as  well  as  the  wealthiest  burgesses,  had 
joyfully  contributed.     But  there  was  store 


196 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


of  other  tilings — tables  were  laid  out  in  the 
hall,  and  over  them  was  such  bountiful 
store  of  good  eating  and  drinking,  as,  so  it 
seemed,  might  sutMce  lor  a  garrison  to  sus- 
tain a  seven  years'  siege.  Tlie  high  bailiff 
also  kept  open  house — so  did  the  vicar — and 
so  did  the  ciiietest  aldermen.  The  inns 
were  as  admiral)ly  well  provided  :  and  there 
were  also  capacious  covered  booths  erected 
in  various  directions,  willi  flags  and  goodly 
branches  at  top,  whereof  some  showed  such 
a  commodity  of  good  victual  as  the  whole 
town  could  not  have  supplied  at  another 
time — others  were  for  dancing  ;  wherein 
could  be  had  wine,  or  ale,  or  cider,  in  sucJi 
plenty  as  it  was  a  marvel  to  see. 

The  fame  of  these  revels  had  brought  all 
sorts  of  mounlebanks,  pedlars,  ballad-sing- 
ers. c(>njiirors,  masters,  of  puppets,  exhibi- 
tors of  monsters,  quack-doctors,  and  the  like 
sort  of  tbik,  who,  in  every  street,  were  to 
be  seen  pursuing  their  vocations,  intiuiteU 
to  the  amusement  of  the  rustics.  This  kept 
the  immense  multitude  from  crowding  too 
much  in  one  place,  which  the  corporation 
had  likewise  endeavored  to  avoid  by  caus- 
ing dillljrent  attractive  spcjrts  to  be  going  on 
at  the  same  time — some  withiu  tlie  town 
aiid  some  without. 

On  the  road  to  Shottery  there  was  to  be  a 
hurling-inatch — on  that  to  Bidford,  a  bull- 
baitini^r — close  to  the  chapel  of  the  Guild 
was  to  be  a  game  at  barley-break — near 
the  church,  a  cudgel-play — provision  for 
shooting  at  the  butts  in  one  field,  and  for 
running  at  the  quintain  in  another — a  bad- 
ger-hunt on  the  Avon — a  jumping-match  in 
the  meadows — by  the  elm,  at  the  Dove- 
house  Close  end,  in  the  Henley  Road,  a 
maypole  for  a  dance — and  at  the  opposite 
boundary,  the  two  elms  in  the  Meshain 
highway  a  bonfire.  There  was  also  to  be 
every  thing  as  at  a  May-day — Robin  Hood 
and  Maid  Marian — Hobby-horse  and  St. 
George  and  tlie  Dragon — and,  greatest  of 
all  attractions,  in  the  most  open  place  in  all 
the  town,  was  set  up  a  stage,  in  which  was 
to  be  represented  the  exceeding  admirable, 
most  moving,  and  very  delectable  choice  pa- 
geant of  "Tlie  Nino  Worthies." 

But  now  there  is  a  cheerful  sound  of 
trumpets,  and  it  is  made  known  that  the 
corporation  are  going  in  procession  from 
the  Town  Hall  to  New  Place,  and  present- 
ly there  is  a  vast  show  of  running  and 
scrambling.  The  high  bailiff,  in  the  garb 
of  his  office,  descends  from  his  horse,  and 
enters  Master  Shakspeare's  dwelling,  amid 
a  flourisii  of  trumpets  and  a  great  shout  of 
applause,  to  invite  him  and  his  exquisit" 
fair  daughter,  in  the  name  of  the  people  of 
Stratford,  to  see  all  the  goodly  sports  that 


have  been  [  rovidcd  for  their  especial  honor 
and  delectation  ;  and,  presently,  he  is  seen 
bringing  forth  Master  dhakspeare  ;  where- 
upon there  is  set  up  so  mam  a  cry,  and  so 
piercing  a  flourish,  that  thousands  are  seen 
hi.rrying  to  the  spot  in  every  direction. 
Master  Shaks])eare  ackuovvledgeth  the  ap- 
plau.se  with  such  gracefulness  and  noble- 
ness of  bearing  as  speedily  brought  it  tbrth 
with  double  strength.  '1  he  whilst  he  was 
so  engaged,  there  was  brought  up  to  his 
door  a  most  stately  steed,  ca})arisoned  as 
for  a  king,  which  had  been  provided  by  his 
loving  friends  for  his  accommodation.  He 
leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  held  his  seat 
with  so  commanding  an  air,  dotiing  his 
beaver  courteously  to  all  around,  as  the 
proud  beast  curveted  and  pranced  his  best 
paces,  as  though  knowing  what  inestimable 
honor  he  bore,  that  the  hurraing  was  re- 
newed and  continued  as  if  never  to  end. 

Anon  there  appeared  at  the  door  the  figure 
of  the  gentle  Susanna,  looking,  from  the 
flusli  ot  aflection  and  pride,  in  seeing  her 
father  so  honored,  that  spread  over  her  deli- 
cate features,  more  lovely  than  ever  she 
had  been.  She  seemed  for  a  moment  over- 
powered by  the  tumultuous  greeting  that 
awaited  her;  but  this  speedily  passed,  and, 
with  one  graceful  recognition,  assisted  by 
the  ever-gallant  Sir  George,  she  leaped 
upon  the  noble  steed  that  had  been  provided 
tor  her,  and,  by  her  noble  horsemanship,  was 
winning  the  hearts  of  the  vast  masses  that 
thronged  to  every  point,  window  cr  house- 
top, that  could  couunand  a  view  of  what 
was  going  on. 

A  number  of  the  gentlefolks  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, of  both  sexes,  next  appeared  ; 
who,  having  mounted  their  horses,  the  pro- 
cession started  from  New  Place  in  the  fol- 
lowing order — 

Constables  of  the  watch. 

Twenty-four  poor  men  of  Stratford,  be- 
longing to  the  alms-houses,  in  blue  coats. 

iScholars  of  the  Free-School — where 
Master  Shakspeare  had  received  his  learn- 
ing— two  abreast. 

Vicar  and  Schoolmaster. 

The  difierent  trades,  with  their  banners. 

Trumpeters — followed  by  the  great  ban- 
ner of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  like  unto 
that  famous  representation  on  the  chapel  of 
the  Guild. 

The  high  bailiff,  on  horseback. 

The  two  churchwardens,  a-foot.  Also 
the  aldermen  and  other  officers  of  the  corpo- 
ration, two  and  two. 

Another  great  banner,  bearing  the  arms 
of  England  united  with  Scotland. 

A  company  of  musicians,  playing  joyfal 
tunes. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


197 


Master  Shakspeare,  on  a  tall  horse, 
richly  cap  irisom^d.  By  liis  side,  Mistress 
SusANiNA  Shakspeare,  riding  in  a  lil;e  man- 
ner. 

Ladies  and  gentlewomen,  on  prancing 
palfreys. 

Knights  and  gentlemen  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, all  riding. 

Yeo:nen  of  Stratford  and  the  Hamlets  of 
Shottory,  Drayton,  Little  VVilmecote,  and 
Bishopton — every  man  on  his  own  iiorse. 

S_Tving-men  of  tlie  gentry,  in  their  coats 
and  badges,  a-foot. 

A  great  banner  of  the  cross. 

Two  trumpet  rs. 

Constables  of  the  watch. 

As  the  procession  passed  through  the 
principal  streets,  there  was  such  a  gon'^Tal 
craning  of  necks  from  opened  casements 
and  crowded  house-tops,  doorvvays,  and  every 
other  convenient  place,  and  such  shouting 
and  hurraing,  and  waving  of  hats  and  hand- 
kerchiefs, as  was  truly  wonderful  to  see  and 
hear.  There  was  no  lack  ot'  comment  on 
the  per-^onal  appearance  of  both  the  princi- 
pal personages,  nor  was  there  any  lack  of 
adminition.  Of  their  feelings,  notliing  can 
be  said  to  make  tliem  sutHciently  under- 
stood. Master  Shakspeare  felt  elated — of 
a  surety,  the  sight  that  presented  itself  to 
him  was  suiRcient  to  have  exalted  the  most 
earihborn  of  mortals  :  but  the  satisfaction 
arose  less  from  gratitied  vanity  than  from  a 
love  of  that  kindness  that  seemed  the  moving 
spirit  of  the  whole  scene. 

It  was  not  till  he  passed  by  the  well-re- 
membered house  in  Henley  Street,  that  his 
feelings  seemed  to  be  getting  the  mastery. 
He  thought  of  the  estimable  hearts  at  rest, 
under  the  churchyard  turf,  that  would  have 
rejoiced  beyond  all  mortal  joy  to  have  seen 
that  day  :  and,  for  one,  what  a  day  of  honor 
it  would  have  been  held,  had  not  the  de- 
stroyer, so  prematurely,  cut  him  off  Iroui 
the  world  he  was  so  well  titted  to  adorn  ! 

He  was  aroused  from  an  unhappy  reverie 
by  a  fresh  burst  of  plaudits,  v/liich  brought 
lus  thoughts  into  a  more  ngreeable  channel. 

Susanna  rode  by  his  side  with  a  swelling 
heart.  She  seemed  entirely  oblivious  of 
her  own  peculiar  ideas  and  sensations — and 
she  had  much  to  forget.  She  thought  and 
felt  only  lor  her  f.ither.  She  had  always 
been  pioud  of  him,  but  now  her  pride  had 
in  it  something  so  reverential,  it  looked  like 
an  angelic  appreciation  of  uu mortal  excel- 
lence. 'J'hey  passed  on,  viewing  with  in- 
finite contentation  the  arrangements  that 
had  been  made  for  the  enjoyment  of  the 
people  of  the  difF  ront  revels.  They  bi  held 
several  in  full  operation.     Most,  however. 


had  suspended  their  operations  to  obtain  a 
view  of  the  approaching  proce.-sion,  but  they 
saw  enough  to  know  liovv  well  everything 
liad  been  managed. 

They  now  drew  near  to  the  spot  where 
the  stage  had  been  erected,  and  were  soon 
marshalled  within  view  of  it;  the  tbotmen 
being  pi  iced  in  front,  and  the  horsemen  be- 
hind. Here  they  had  been  but  a  brief  space, 
when  the  grand  and  wonderful  pageant 
commenced  with  the  appearance  on  the 
stage  of  three  marvellous  ill-visaged,  ill- 
sli  iped,  ill-clad  personages,  in  turbans  and 
sandals,  with  monstrous  long  boards,  who, 
in  rare  ranting  speech,  proceeded  to  pro- 
claim to  their  audience  tliat  they  were  the 
three  Hebrew  worthies,  Joshua.  David,  and 
Judas  Maccaba^us — they  spoke  some  ex- 
ceeding tine-!ustian  sentences,  and  made 
no  small  exertions  to  appear  to  perfection 
the  heroes  of  Israel,  albeit  they  were  but  in- 
ditferent  Christians,  that  ansv/ered  to  the 
names  uf  Jaspar  13roadfoot,  Cullibert  Dred- 
ger, and  his  son. 

When  they  had  ranted  sufficiently  about 
their  distinguished  names  and  deeds,  they 
made  off — and  [)resently  they  were  succeed- 
ed by  t;iree  as  odd-looking  varkts  as  ever 
were  met  within  the  world,  in  helmets,  hav- 
ing naked  feet  with  sandals,  and  an  odd 
kind  of  drapery  thrown  over  their  naked 
shoulders.  Tlieir  very  appearance  was  the 
signal  lor  a  burst  of  mirth  tiiat  seemed  to 
shake  the  whole  town.  First  came  the 
mighty  Hector,  and  a  rare  hectoring  blade 
he  proved  him.-elf.  He  swore  pretty  round- 
ly there  was  not  so  fine  a  fellow  of  h,s  inches 
any  where,  and  that  he  had  just  come  from 
the  walls  of  Troy  at  the  rate  of  a  sheriff's 
post,  to  show  the  whole  world  what  match- 
less choice  spirits  there  were  in  the  old 
times.  In  sooth,  he  talked  big  enough  ; 
yet,  lor  all  his  tine  feathers,  he  was  no  other 
than  the  reader's  politic  friend,  Simon  Stock- 
fish, who,  after  due  deliberation,  had,  at  a 
prfssing  request,  lent  his  excellent  |)owers 
to  secure  a  j)roper  performance  of  the  pag- 
eant. 

Next  came  a  fellow  who  seemed  full  as 
broad  as  he  was  long ;  yet  his  length  was 
little  better  than  that  of  a  dwarf,  and  in  his 
bullet  head  appeared  a  brace  of  open  jaws 
that  looked  to  be  ready  to  devour  any  one 
of  the  company  inclined  to  test  his  powers 
of  swallow  When  he  declared,  in  the 
highest  sounding  phrase,  that  he  was  Julius 
Cffisar,  there  was  a  laugh  among  all  such 
as  had  any  acijuaintance  with  tuat  worthy. 
Nevertheless,  he  strutted,  and  grimaced,  and 
vapored  for  an  intolerable  long  time,  con- 
cerning  his   valorous   doings  ;    few   there 


193 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


would  have  taken  him  for  Julius  Cccsar, 
but  it'  there  luid  been  any  doubt  on  the  mat- 
ter amongst  tlie  town-^people,  it  musi  liave 
ceased  wiu'n,  in  tiie  midst  of  one  of  liis  most 
tearing  speeciies,  from  two  cavities  or  pock- 
ets below  his  girdle,  sprung  forth  the  heads 
of  two  little  dogs,  who  set  up  such  a  yelp- 
ing, tiiat  Julius  Cajsar  stopped  sudden  short 
in  his  i'eioics,  and  with  two  smart  pats  on 
their  heads,  the  voice  of  Jonas  Tictape  bade 
tliem  "  get  ni,  and  be  hanged  !" 

At  his  heuls  came  a  like  sort  of  knave, 
about  tiie  same  height,  but  not  so  siout ; 
albeit,  however  small  he  was  in  his  inches, 
he,  too,  was  a  lamous  tall  fellow  with  his 
tongue.  He  made  it  out  that  he  had  con- 
quered the  world  ;  and  by  his  bearing  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen,  in  ins  own  conceit,  he 
could  do  it  again  as  easy  as  he  could  drink 
off  a  pint  of  small  ale.  But,  let  him  have 
bragged  till  doomsd  ly,  it  was  plain  enough, 
Alexander  the  Great  was  but  Tommy  Hait 
the  Little. 

These  three  having  departed,  there  ap- 
peared   another  lot   of  a   like  number,  to 
make  up  tlie  nine  ;  and,  however  tiie  Jews 
and  Intidels  had  bestirred  themselves  in  this 
business,  th.se  three,  who  came  as  Chris- 
tians, in  full  suits  of  armor,  outcrowed  them 
all  to  nothing.     It  came  out  that  they  were 
no  other  tlian  King  Arthur,  Charlemagne,  | 
and  Godfrey  of  Boulogne.      King  Aithurl 
had  gnt  a  squint,  and  was  lame  of  a  leg,  | 
that  marked  hun   lor  the   constable  of  the ' 
watch  ;  and  Godfrey  of  Boulogne  was  high-  j 
shouldered,  and  spoke  with  a  cracked  voice, 
nobody  woald  have  owned  but  the  school- 1 
master.     As  for  the  ilhintrious  and  very  ab- ; 
solute  valiant  potentate  tlie  great  Chdrle-i 
magne,  by  some  cuance  or  other,  ere  he  had  | 
spoke    many   lines,  lie  wanted   prompting,  i 
Charlemagne  the  great,  it   was   soon   ob- ' 
served  was  gifted   with  a  wonderful  little  j 
memory.     He  hardly  knew  who  he  was — 
clean   torgot  what  he  had  done,  and  could 
not  for  tlie  life  of  him  say   why  he  was 
there.     'I'lie  spectators  made  many  sharp 
remarks  on  this  strange  failing  in  Charle- 
magne— and  at  last,  things  growing  worse, 
the    great  man  was    so   badgered    that   he 
scarce  knew  which  w:iy  to  tarn. 

When  the  public  disapproval  of  him  be- 
gan at  la.-t  to  tihow  they  would  bear  with 
him  no  longer,  he  presently  opened  his  hel- 
met and  t.irevv  it  aside,  swearing  pretty 
roundly  to  ttie  crowd  beneath  him,  "  He  was 
none  of  (Jharley  Mam,  but  only  simple 
Launcelot  CurMiose,  Master  Shakspeare's 
boy,  and  he  didn  t  care  a  tico  lor  the  nine 
worthies,  or  any  of  their  generat.on." 

In  simple  truth,  Launce   had  been  too 


busy  with  the  tankard,  and  liad  become  pot- 
valiant.  This  burst  of  indignation  set  the 
whole  audience  laughing,  and  in  this  merry 
mood  concluded  the  "exceeding,  admirable, 
most  moving,  and  very  delectable  choice 
pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies." 

Certes,  Master  Shakspeare  found  no 
slight  degree  of  amusement  in  this  jierl'orm- 
ance  ;  he  often  discovered  himself  wishing 
that  honest  Ned  Allen,  Dick  Burbage,  or 
any  other  of  the  great  London  players  could 
see  how  choicely  the  players  ot  Stratford 
employed  the  resources  of  their  art ;  and  he 
could  have  laughed  right  earnestly,  had  he 
not  remembered  that,  however  burlesque 
was  the  playing,  the  players  were  honest 
hearts,  whose  sole  aim  was  to  do  him  honor. 
Thus  influenced,  it  was  no  marvel  he  ex- 
pressed himself  exceeding  gratitied  with 
every  part  of  it. 

After  this  the  procession  moved  on,  and 
in  turn  visited  the  scene  of  the  rest  of  the 
Stratford  Revels,  with  the  which  he  was 
equally  well  pleased. 

An  important  feature  in  the  day's  festivi- 
ties, was  a  grand  banquet  at  the  Guildhall, 
mostly  at  the  expense  of  the  Corporation; 
where  they  feasted  their  illustrious  towns- 
man and  his  friends  right  sumptuously  ; 
many  handsome  things  being  said  of  him, 
to  which  he  replied  in  a  tone  of  earnest 
thankfulness  that  did  famously  express  his 
sense  of  the  honor  they  did  him.  When 
this  was  over.  Sir  George  Carew,  with  more 
tender  gallantry  than  any  of  his  juniors 
could  liave  used,  must  needs  lead  off  the 
rirst  dance  with  his  fair  favcrite,  Mistress 
Susanna.  They  kept  it  up  till  a  late  hour, 
having  all  the  most  approved  dances,  and 
every  admired  tune;  and  when  the  time  for 
parting  could  no  longer  be  delayed,  it  was 
said  of  all — both  such  as  came  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  by  those  living  in  the  neighbor- 
hood— that,  in  their  memory,  tiiere  had  been 
irolhing  in  the  county  that  atibrded  such  ex- 
cellent desport  as  tiiese  Stratford  Revels; 
and  it  was  the  general  desire  that  on  the 
twenty-third  of  every  succeeding  April,  tiie 
town  should  be  rendered  attractive  by  a 
similar  entertaiiunent- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Ifl9 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

Hark  hither,  reader  !  wilt  thou  see 
Nature  her  Ovvn  physician  bs  ? 
Wilt  see  a  mau  all  liis  own  wealth, 
His  own  music,  his  own  health  ; 
A  man  whoie  sober  soul  can  teU 
How  to  wear  her  garments  well  ? 

Crashaw. 

Master  Shakspeare  had,  by  this  time,  be- 
come settled  in  his  new  position.  His  man- 
sion was  Urge  and  commodious,  and  he  had 
taken  onod  care  that  in  it  he  should  be  sur- 
rounded with  such  comforts  and  accommoda- 
tions as  he  most  hked.  There  was  his  li- 
brary full  of  choice  authors,  with  here  and 
there  a  rare  specimen  of  old  armor,  that 
recalled  the  glories  of  the  Black  Prince, 
and  the  triumphs  of  Henry  of  Monmouth 
There,  too,  was  a  goodly  hall,  with  no  lack 
of  helmets,  swords,  and  bucklers  around  the 
walls ;  a  dining  parlor,  with  wel  -carved 
furniture  and  handsome  panels,  with  a  few 
choice  old  portraits;  a  "  blue  chamber,"  so 
called  froni  being  hung  with  arras  of  that 
color  ;  a  "  paradise,"  bearing  this  designa- 
tion in  consequence  of  its  having  the  story 
of  our  tirst  parents,  to  their  expulsion  from 
the  Garden  of  EJen,  done  in  German  water- 
colors  on  the  walls  ;  a  "  yellow  chamber," 
styled  so  from  its  yellow  hangings,  and 
divers  others,  distinguished  in  a  like  man- 
ner by  so.iie  peculiarity  in  the  character  i  in  so  impressive  a  fashion,  they  presently 
of  the  furniture.      There   was   also  ample  [  clean  repented  of  their  infamy, "and  took  to 


the  fair  Susanna  riding  by  his  side,  each 
with  a  favorite  bird,  would  enjoy  the  delec- 
table sport  of  hawking.  Or,  mayhap,  he 
might  be  ready  for  any  other  pastime  that 
looked  to  be  most  ready  for  him.  His  gar- 
den and  his  farm  seemed  to  possess  for  him 
inexhaustible  resources  ;  and,  next  to  them 
in  interest,  he  regarded  a  clieerful  ride  or 
walk  into  any  of  tlie  most  pleasant  places  in 
the  neighborhood. 

He  daily  grew  into  more  esteem  with  his 
honest  townsmen  and  neighbors,  and  wag 
much  talked  of  hn-  many  miles  nmnd,  not 
so  much  in  relation  to  the  great  gifts  which 
had  secured  him  his  great  name,  but  rather 
as  one  Squire  Shakspeare  of  Stratford.  Jn 
trutii  tlie  character  of  squire  suited  him  as 
well  as  it  would  any  who  had  been  born  in 
it;  and  so  it  is  palpable  would  any  other, 
let  it  have  been  of  whatsoever  rank  or  sta- 
tion it  could  have  possessed. 

He  had  been  appointed  to  the  honorable 
office  of  justice  of  peace  ;  and,  having  had 
his  hall  in  New  Place  turned  into  a  justice- 
room,  it  was  his  wont,  with  certain  assist- 
ants of  his,  to  examine  such  offenders  as 
were  brought  before  him.  Frequently  would 
he  so  admonish  the  evil-doers  that  they 
straightway  abandoned  their  vile  courses, 
and  became  of  a  notable  honesty  ever  after. 
He  saved  many  from  the  commission  of 
base  offences  ;  and  those  notorious  malefac- 
tors he  was  obliged  to  condemn,  he  did  so 


accommodation  in  the  way  of  buttery,  kit- 
chen, and  the  like  sort  of  places,  with  stable, 
and  a  choice  garden. 

The  chamber  lie  most  affected  was  the 
one  used  as  a  common  refectory.  It  was 
distinguished  by  a  bay  window,  and  a  most 
capacious  chimney-corner.  Here  in  his 
high  chair  he  loved  to  sit,  surrounded  by 
ad.niring  friends,  who  afiected  nothing  so 


better  behaving  from  that  time  forth.  In 
brief,  the  fame  of  his  jusiice,  and  his  skill 
in  finding  out  the  intricatest  matters,  spread 
so  every  day,  that  he  became  looked  upon 
as  the  chief  judge  of  such  otiences  in  those 
parts  ;  so  that  it  was  seldom  he  had  not  his 
hands  full  of  it. 

He  sat  in  his  chair  of  worship,  which  he 
filled  wiih  no  lack  of  dignity,  his  person 


well  in  the  long  winter  nights  as  to  get  him  I  being   now    full    and    portly — mayhap  the 


in  the  hum  >r  of  telling  stories  ;  and  number 
less  narratives,  of  wonderful  interest,  did  he 
narrate  to  th  it  enviable  circle.  There  were 
tales  of  all  hues  and  complexions,  to  suit  all 
manner  of  tastes  and  inclinations  ;  tales  of 
all  countries  and  of  all  times  ;  yet  each 
marked  with  the  same  marvellous  invention, 
that  kept  the  rapt  hearers  in  a  very  ecstacy 
of  mingled  pleasure  and  wonder,  till  they 
had  deeply  encroached  into  their  ordinary 
hours  of  rest. 

Wlien   he  chose  to  seek  relief  from  his 


combined  results  of  good  living  and  of  good 
nature — Sir  George  Carew  sitting  near, 
who  shared  in  such  business  whenever  he 
could  ride  over  from  his  own  house ;  and 
Simon  Stockfish  over-ngainst  them  acting 
as  clerk,  who  occasionally  ventured  on 
giving  a  hint  in  the  way  of  djep  policy, 
which,  though  prohting  no  one,  was  sure 
of  being  taken  in  good  part.  Launce  had 
been  promoted  to  the  otiice  and  dignity  of 
crier  of  the  court,  the  which  he  rilled  to 
marvellous  admiration,  allowing  of  no  noise 


in-door  amusements,  he  looked  after  hii  or  disturbance  of  any  sort,  save  what  he 
lands  and  herds  as  attentively  as  any  yeo-  made  himself,  which  was  sure  to  be  enough, 
man  in  Warwickshire.  If  it  pleased  him  |  in  all  conscience,  for  all  the  rest  of  the  corn- 
better,  he  would  mount  his  horse ;  and,  with  j  pany.     There  were  also  certain  constables, 


200 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  wit,  young  Quiney,  of  whose  discretion 
and  diligence  in  his  office  Master  Siiak.s- 
poare  entertained  an  excellent  proper  (j[)in- 
ion  ;  Toniiny  Hart,  who,  an  he  could  1)0 
serious,  would  have  arrested  any  ofiender 
that  came  in  liis  way  ;  but  he  wn.sso  ready 
to  cr.icli  a  je?t  with  liiin,  instead  of  proceed- 
ing with  such  serious  matter,  that  it  was 
scarce  safe  to  put  iiim  on  such  office  alone. 
To  these  were  added  Jasper  Broadfoot,  and 
old  Cuthbert  Dredger  and  his  son,  who  were 
tlien  grouj)ed  together,  a  short  way  from 
where  Master  Shakspeare  and  his  friend 
were  discussing  some  favorite  subject  with 
marvellous  earnestness. 

At  this  period  the  reader's  familiar  ac- 
quaintance Launce,  the  crier  df  the  court, 
wlio  looked  on  himself  as  little  less  in  dig- 
nity thin  his  v.'orship,  shouted  out  in  his  mo.^t 
worshipful  tone,  "One  to  speak  with  his 
worship!"  and  immediately  afterwards  there 
appeared  at  the  door  a  female,  humijly  clad 
and  closely  veiled,  attended  by  Susanna  and 
her  sister  on  each  side  ot  her. 

"  A  plain  case  this,"  said  Master  Shaks- 
peare, in  an  under-tone.  "  These  two  jades 
of  mine  tike  under  their  protection  all  the 
amiable  olFenders  and  interesting  criminals 
they  can  hear  of ;  and,  forsootii.  I  am  to 
stand  godfather  for  their  misdemeanors." 

"None  so  well,  Will — none  so  well," 
replied  Sir  George,  merrily.  "  There  are 
so  many  of  thine  own  to  answer  for,  that  a 
few,  more  or  less,  need  not  trouble  thee." 

"  Let  her  not  come  any  nearer,  I  pray 
you,"  earnestly  whispered  Simon  Stocktish, 
across  tlie  tibie,  interposed  between  them. 
"  She,  perchance,  may  have  some  danger- 
ous weapon  hid  about  her  :  if  she  be  made 
to  stop  where  she  is,  there  need  be  no  fear 
of  her  using  it  to  any  fatal  purpose." 

Thereupon  he  made  a  particular  move- 
ment with  his  head  to  Launce,  who  ap- 
peared to  understand  its  import  on  the  in- 
stant, for  he  repeated  it  to  certain  of  the 
constables,  who,  quite  as  quickly  on  the 
alert,  presently  drew  nigher  to  the  prisoner, 
or  petitioner,  or  wiiatever  she  was ;  so  that, 
had  she  offijred  any  violence,  they  could 
liave  pounced  upon  hu-r  before  she  could 
have  done  mischief.  But  the  person  who 
had  thus  engrossed  their  regards  seemed  in 
no  case  for  any  deed  of  desperaiion.  If  it 
was  not  for  her  fair  supporters,  she  must 
have  fallen  to  the  ground,  her  steps  seemed 
80  moiislroiis  weak  and  irresolute.  She 
trembled  violently,  and  her  sobs  were  deep 
and  frequent.  Siie  paused  a  lew  moments, 
and  seemed  as  though  she  desired  to  go 
back,  bat  a  few  words  from  her  kind  con- 
ductors  appeared   to  give  her    additional 


sfrcngtii.  She  continued  advancing,  but  it 
was  I'vidcnt  that  her  emotion  increased 
v.'orjierfully. 

"  Merit  reduced  to  beg ;   or,  misfortune 
forcing  an   unwilling   petitioner."  observed 
Master  Shakspeare  to  his  fiiend,  as  he  be- 
gun to  regard  her  with  considerable  interest. 
"  Well,  well,  Master  Justice,"  said   the 
other,  who  also  looked  favorably  in  the  same 
direction,  "  in  such  cases,  it  is  easy  enough 
'  to  see  to  which  side  the  scale  leans  ;  and, 
I  she  being  a  woman,  she  is  entitled  to  the 
I  mo.-t  liberal  dealing  of  that  most  worshipful 
mf'mber  of  her  se.x,  the  blind   lady,  v.'hose 
office  you  have  been  called  upon  to  tulhl." 

All  this  time,  Simon  Stockhsh  was  fid- 
geting on  his  seat,  his  eyes  now  dwelling 
with  no  small  degree  of  alarm  upon  the  ad- 
vancing female — anon,  winking  and  point- 
ing at  tlie  constables,  who  were  all  close  at 
hand,  in  a  remarkable  state  of  vigilance. 

"  Well,  dame  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 
peare, gently.  "  Whatever  may  be  your 
cause,  you  have  taken  care  to  jirovide  your- 
self with  such  counsel  as  the  judge  is  pretty 
sure  to  listen  to  witii  some  favorabkncss." 
No  rejily  was  given  to  this  assiu'ance — 
unless  it  was  offered  in  the  increasing  sobs, 
which  came  from  the  person  to  wbom  it 
was  directed.  The  gentlemen  seemed  af- 
fected, and  even  the  constables  looked  some- 
what bewildered. 

"  Prythee,  come  nearer,  dame  !"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  in  a  still  kinder  voice. 
"  Perchance  yon  may  have  something  to 
tell  me  in  contidence.  Be  assured  you  will 
hnd  me  anxious  to  afford  you  any  reason- 
able assistance,  and  all  proper  sympathy.  ' 

At  this  the  sobbing  increased  wonderfully; 
but  never  a  word  was  spoke.  Master  Siiaks- 
peare  was  almost  inciined  to  think  that  it 
was  a  case  of  crime,  loilowed  by  deep  re- 
morse. He  looked  steadily  at  her;  but, 
from  the  thickness  of  her  veil,  could  niako 
out  nothing  but  a  drooping  head,  a  heaving 
breast,  and  a  trembling  form.  Both  Susan- 
na and  Judith  had  occasionally  addressed 
words  of  encour.igement  to  her  in  an  under- 
tone, but  they  ceased  to  produce  any  bene- 
ticial  results.     At  last  the  elder  spoke. 

"  I  have  ventured,  sweet  sir,"  said  she, 
"  to  bring  hither,  at  her  most  urgent  prayer 
and  solicitation,  one  who  is  dee)  ly  sunsible 
of  certain  unworthinesses  Ijy  her  committed, 
when  her  heart  and  mind  was  clean  inno- 
cent of  any  kncjwledge  whatsoever  of  the 
nature  and  extent  of  I.er  ill-do^ng." 

"  If  sincere  repentance  of  vvhat  ill  she 
hath  done,"  added  the  younger  sift  r,  im- 
pressively, "  for  which  others  are  more  ac- 
countable than  herself,  may  he  considered  a 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


201 


claim,  of  a  surety,  dear  father,  she  hath 
adiiiirible  grounJs  for  being  indulgently 
dealt  with  in  this  state." 

"  I  am  ever  right  glad,"  said  her  worthy 
parent,  "to  hear  of  a  turning  back  to  the 
right  [)atli,  when  any  deviation  hath  been 
made  from  it.  If  it  b3  in  my  power  to  set 
your  mind  at  euse,  be  content,  I  |)ray  you  ;  I 
will  insure  ynu  every  consolation  your  case 
admits  of.  But,  an  it  so  please  yciu,  I  would 
fain  see  your  teatures.  In  a  business  of 
this  sort,  such  mystery  is  by  no  means 
desirable." 

At  tills  the  trembling  and  the  sobbing 
became  more  violent  thuii  ever.  The  party 
had  ap|)roa(hed  close  to  Master  Shakspeare, 
to  a  vast  increase  to  the  fears  and  doubts  of 
Simon  Stockfish,  who,  with  his  mind  in  a 
whirl  at  the  imininency  of  the  danger,  was 
racking  his  brain,  to  discover  some  politic 
plan  of  removing  iiis  honored  master  out  of 
the  way.  Sir  George  Carew  looked  on  the 
ground  with  singular  interest — so  gallant  a 
heart  as  was  his  was  alive  in  a  moment  to 
the  distresses  of  a  woman  ;  and  he  felt  the 
more  sympathy  fron  seeing  the  amiable 
part  played  in  it  by  his  fair  friends,  Susanna 
and  Judith. 

Master  Shakspeare  gently  attempted  to 
lift  up  the  veil — to  wiiich  no  resistance  was 
made  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  the  wearer  of  it  fell 
on  her  knees  before  him,  in  an  agony  of  tears 
and  sobs.  He  started  back,  overcome  as  it 
were,  with  extreme  astoni-huient.  Tiiere 
knelt  before  him,  as  a  suppliant  and  a  peni- 
tent, the  creator  ot  his  earliest  and  sweete>t 
pleasures — the  origin  itor  of  his  early  griefs 
and  miseries.  She  knelt  not  alone;  her  two 
daiigiiters  knelt  on  each  side  of  her,  and  all, 
in  tiie  mute  eloquence  of  tears,  prayed  for 
forgiveness. 

Sir  George  Carew  could  look  on  no  longer; 
on  pretence  of  brushing  back  the  hair  tnnn 
his  forehead,  he  removed  from  his  eyes  the 
abundant  moisture  that  there  suddenly  start- 
ed forth.  Simon  Stockhsh,  in  despair  of 
devising  any  stroke  of  policy  to  meet  the 
occasion,  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  for- 
w^■lrd  to  seize  upon  the  suspected  assassin, 
when  he  became  transfi.xed  with  wonder- 
ment— staring  with  open  mouth  like  one 
beholding  a  ghost.  Not  less  of  marvelling 
was  seen  in  tlie  countenances  of  tiie  consta- 
bles ;  and  one  or  two  turned  aside  their 
heads,  and  drew  their  sleeves  across  their 
eyes. 

What  a  Hood  of  subduing  recollections 
rushed  upon  the  mind  of  Master  Shakspeare, 
at  the  sight  of  that  still  lovely  lace!  Tlie 
exquisite  sweet  pleasure  of  early  love,  and 
all  iho  bewildering  trances  of  passion  and 


romance  it  brings  in  its  train — the  admirable 
influence  of  a  faith  strong  as  life,  in  the 
existence  of  the  most  complete  perfectness 
in  womankind — the  deep  and  ennobling 
sympatiiy  wliich,  whilst  it  exalts  the  object 
of  preference  to  the  dignity  of  a  saint,  places 
the  admirer  in  the  privileged  position  of  a 
devotee — all  pressed  upon  him  at  one  and 
the  same  moment.  He  thought  not  of  things 
evil,  as  arisingout  of  this  overgrowth  of  grate- 
ful feeling,  like  iungi  spreading  at  the  base 
of  the  noblest  plants  of  the  verdant  forest — 
he  saw  before  liim  the  Anne  Hathaway  of 
his  happiest  hours,  the  wife  of  his  bosom, 
the  mother  of  his  children,  and  the  partner 
of  his  cares  and  sorrows,  ere  both  had  be- 
come intolerably  familiar  to  him,  and  caught 
the  trembling  penitent  in  his  arms  to  hush 
her  tears  and  terrors,  on  the  breast  from 
which  she  had  too  long,  by  her  own  sen- 
tence, been  banished. 

'I'his  blessed  event  had  been  brought 
about  by  the  judicious  and  affectionate  man- 
agement of  Susanna  and  Judith — though 
the  t'ormer  had  much  the  largest  share  in  it. 
Scarcely  had  she  returned  to  Stratford, 
when,  unknown  to  any  one,  she  made  for 
the  cottage  at  Shottery,  where,  if  a  rough 
reception  awaited  her,  she  contrived,  by 
good  management,  to  get  it  passed  over 
without  any  ill  consequences  ;  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  absence  of  the  three  harpies, 
who  were  as  usual  juanting  it  together  some 
few  miles  off,  she  commenced  her  advances 
towards  the  object  nearest  her  heart.  They 
were  less  ill  received  than  she  had  expected ; 
and,  at  her  next  visit,  which  she  so  limed  as 
to  avoid  her  aunts,  she  pushed  forward  more 
boldly,  with  such  satisfactory  results,  that, 
on  tlie  next  occasion  of  her  coming,  she 
took  Judith  with  her,  and  their  united  re- 
presentations and  entreaties  eflected  every 
thing  that  was  desired. 

Aunt  Prateapace  managed  to  gain  intel- 
ligence of  the  reconciliation,  and  haslcned 
with  her  two  allies  to  their  kinswoman  to 
use  all  their  influence  to  prevent  it  ;  but, 
when  they  arrived  at  the  cottage,  there  were 
persons  there  they  little  expected  meeting. 
Master  Shakspeare  had  gladly  proceeded  to 
the  dwelling,  which  had  so  oiteii  rose  up  in 
his  reveries  to  bring  liiin  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  the  pleasant  hours  he  had  uiice 
known  in  it,  and  a  large  party  of  humble 
friends  had  been  coliected  to  welcome  him 
back  to  his  old  thre.-iiold.  When  the  three 
niiscliief-makers  made  their  appear.ince, 
they  were  horribly  astonished  at  seeing  the 
ro(jm  fliled  with  company,  over  whom  the 
object  of  their  bitter  calumnies  were  presitl- 
ing  like  a  host,  with  both  power  and  wisJi 


202 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  make  his  fruestfs  happy  around  him. 
Prominent  amongst  these  were  Tommy  Hart 
and  )iis  merry  helpmate;  Ciithbert  Dredger 
and  his  son  ;  Jasper  Broadfout;  Peg  o'  the 
Twiggen  Bottle,  and  her  old  acquaintance 
with  the  triple  ciiin  ;  Quiney  and  his  atfec- 
tionate  partner;  Susanna  and  Jonas  Tietape. 

After  a  stare  of  intolerable  astonishment 
at  the  company,  the  tiiree  wortliies  stared 
as  fixedly  at  each  other.  The  company 
looked  as  though  they  enjoyed  their  confu- 
sion ;  one  or  two  wore  a  grave  aspect,  a 
few  seemed  inclined  for  sport  ;  and,  when 
the  old  Jezabels  looked  at  young  Quiney, 
or  Tommy  Hart,  or  Jonas  Tietape,  tiiey 
found  fices  so  disguised  by  the  extravagant 
grimaces  with  which  each  strove  to  rival 
the  other,  that  they  knew  not  what  strange 
animals  they  liad  got  amongst. 

"  O'  the  dickens  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Prate- 
apace,  who  was  not  easily  abashed.  "  Who 
would  have  thought  of  meeting  here  so  plea- 
sant a  company  ?  There  is  Tom  Quiney, 
as  I  live  !"  At  this  recognition,  the  afore- 
said Tom  put  his  visage  into  a  horrible 
squint.  "  How  fare  you.  Tommy  Hart  ?" 
continued  she,  whereupon  little  Tommy  set 
up  a  squint  more  horrible  still.  "  And  my 
merry  gossip,  Jonas  Tietape  !  how  goes  all 
with  you  ?"  Jonas  answered  only  with  so 
unnatural  a  contortion  of  eyes,  nose,  and 
mouth,  that  such  as  had  with  great  difficulty 
kept  a  serious  aspect  could  restrain  them- 
selves no  longer,  and  there  was  a  general 
laugh. 

"  Let  us  off  to  the  church-ale  at  Wilme- 
cote,"  said  Aunt  Gadabout ;  "  I  warrant 
you,  we  shall  be  more  welcome  there  than 
here." 

"  Go  hang  thyself  for  an  old  fool !"  ex- 
claimed Aunt  Breedbate,  evidently  bursting 
with  rage  and  spite.  "What  care  I  for 
their  welcome  !  Anne  hath  not  the  spirit 
of  a  woman,  that's  plain."  Here  young 
Quiney  set  up  a  caterwauling.  "  But  if  she 
fancyeth  being  trampled  on,  I  doubt  not 
she'll  have  enough  of  it,  poor  wretch  !"  At 
this  Tommy  Hart  addeth  an  exquisite  at- 
tempt at  caterwauling  in  a  higher  key. — 
"  She's  an  unthankful,  false,  worthless,  vile, 
treacherous  jade  as  ever  was  born ;  her  fine 
husband  will  find  that  out,  I  can  tell  him. 
God  give  her  grace  to  mend  her  ways,  say 
I  !  for  the  villany  I  have  known  of  her 
"  She  was  interrupted  by  such  a  ter- 
rible burst  of  cat  music  from  Jonas  Tietape, 
as  though  a  fight  of  tabbies  had  broken  out 
more  general  than  had  ever  been  known. — 
Thereupon  young  Quiney  and  Tommy  Hart 
joined  in  full  chorus,  which  made  so  intol- 
erable a  din,  Talbot,  who  had  hitherto  re- 


garded the  whole  scene  in  silent  wonder, 
rose  up  and  commenced  howling  with  all 
his  mi^jht,  and  some  of  the  company  were 
glad  to  put  their  hands  to  their  ears,  the 
rest  having  enough  to  do  ho'ding  their 
sides. 

The  three  worthies  waited  not  for  any 
thing  else.  They  bounced  out  of  the  house 
like  very  furies  ;  but,  ere  they  had  well  got 
into  the  road,  commenced  so  fierce  a  qu  r- 
rel  amongst  themselves,  as  to  who  was  to 
blame  for  this  misbehaving  of  rheir  kinswo- 
man, that  for  the  first  time  since  they  had 
been  together,  they  would  have  none  of  each 
other's  company.  It  may  be  here  added, 
that  soon  after  this  they  found  themselves  so 
ill  received  wherever  they  went,  that  they 
thought  it  best  to  leave  Shottery.  Each 
proceeded  in  a  different  direction,  and  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives  never  again  entered  into 
that  neighborhood. 

Perchance  the  reader  will  not  object  in 
this  instance  to  diverge  a  little  from  the 
current  of  the  narrative,  to  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  one  of  his  especial  acquaintances, 
the  young  physician.  It  has  been  shown 
how  he  went  to  the  French  king's  city  of 
Paris,  to  be  physician  to  the  ambassador. — 
When  Sir  George  Carew  returned  home, 
Dr.  John  Hall  was  recommended  to  a  great 
nobleman  of  France,  with  whom  he  travel- 
led into  the  Low  countries.  He  ultimately 
left  Flanders  for  England.  On  his  landing 
he  made  directly  for  London,  where,  as  he 
approached,  he  was  sensible  of  some  un- 
pleasant feelings.  What  further  annoy- 
ances might  be  in  store  for  him  he  had  yet 
to  learn,  but  the  subject  was  one  he  could 
not  think  of  without  many  discordant  asso- 
ciations. It  chanced,  as  he  entered  London 
by  the  Oxford  road  early  in  the  morning,  he 
descried  a  great  assemblage  of  per.-ons 
pushing  towards  him  with  a  horrid  yelling 
and  screaming  : — "  Prythee,  good  I'liend," 
said  he,  to  one  of  a  group  who  were  pass- 
ing close  to  him,  "  what  meaneth  this  com- 
motion ?" 

"  Know  you  not.  valiant  sir  "  replied  the 
other,  seemingly  in  some  astonishment, 
"  that  this  is  the  morning  of  the  execu- 
tion ?" 

"  A  morning  which  all  London  have  been 
thinking  of  this  last  fortnight  or  more," 
added  a  middle-aged,  flauntingly-dressed  fe- 
male beside  him.  Dr.  Hall  recognisi  d  the 
voice.  It  was  one  he  had  often  heard.  It 
was  that  of  Tabitha  Thatch])ole,  of  Golden 
Lane.  He,  however,  stood  in  no  fear  of 
being  recognised,  as  in  the  last  few  years 
he  had  greatly  altered.  He  briefly  men- 
tioned that  he  had  been  but  scarcely  a  day 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


203 


in  England.  This  made  the  other  commu- 
nicative. 

He  ritated  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  ap- 
proachino^  crowd,  two  of  the  horribles!  cri- 
minals ever  heard  of  were  being  conducted 
to  Tyburn. 

"  J  would  not  have  believed  it,"  said  Mis- 
tress Thatchpole,  "  had  it  not  been  so  clear- 
ly proved  against  them.  They  were  among 
my  most  familiar  gossips.  Alack,  who 
would  have  thought,  after  such  pleasant 
hours  passed  with  them,  that  I  should  go  so 
far  to  see  them  hanged  !  In  sooth,  "tis  a 
strange  world,  e.xcellent  sir.  This  noble 
soldier.  Captain  Swashbuckler,  is  my  hus- 
band." 

"  A  master  of  fence  to  the  Czar  of  Mus- 
covy, and  to  the  Emperor  of  China,  at  your 
service,  valiant  sir,"  whispered  the  cast 
captain. 

"  And  we  have  known  these  villanous 
wretches  as  familiarly  as  we  have  known 
each  other,"  added  the  female.  "  But  it  was 
clean  impossible  any  one  could  have  dreamt 
of  the  villany  they  practised.  As  lor  Mistress 
Millicent " 

"  Millicent  who?"  demanded  the  young 
physici  in  earnestly. 

'•  Why  tiie  intolerable  base  wretch,  who, 
with  her  horribly  infamous  father.  Doctor 
Posset,  as  he  was  styled,  are  now  about  to 
suffer  the  punishment  due  to  such  abomi- 
nable wickedne-s  as  they  have  been  guilty 
of  during  a  long  course  of  secret  poison- 
ings, by  wiiich  it  has  been  proved  they  got 
great  gains." 

On  hearing  this,  Doctor  Hall  strove  to 
put  his  horse  in  another  direction,  but  he 
was  encoiiipassed  by  the  crowd,  and  he  w.is 
obliged  to  wait  lill  it  had  passed.  The  in- 
telligence he  had  heard  was  but  too  true. — 
An  enquiry  into  the  mysterious  death  of  a 
nobleman  e.xcited  suspicion,  a  coime.xiou 
having  been  proved  between  the  widow  and 
the  physician's  daughter.  Sufficient  came 
out  in  the  e.xami nation  to  warrant  the  com- 
mittal to  prison  of  both  father  and  daughter. 
Evidences  of  their  guilt  were  discovered  in 
the  little  back  chamber  in  the  house  in  Gul- 
den Lane,  which  contained,  in  a  secret 
press,  a  collection  of  the  most  subtle  poi- 
sons, with  every  apparatus  for  weighing, 
measuring,  and  mixing;  and  it  was  proved 
in  the  trial  that,  under  cover  of  being  a  phy- 
sici.in,  the  self-styled  doctor  had  for  many 
years  securely  carried  on  the  trade  of  a  se- 
cret poisoner,  in  which  his  daughter  had  ac- 
tively assisted,  among  others  having  been 
employed  fur  that  purpose  by  the  infamous 
Countess  of  Rochester. 

It  was  in  vain  Dr.  Hall  strove  to  keep 


his  horse  out  of  the  press  ;  the  yelling  and 
shouting  so  increased,  the  animal  became 
almost  unmanageable  ;  and,  in  a  state  of 
horror  not  to  be  conceived,  he  found  himself 
so  close  to  the  sledge  on  which  the  crimi- 
nals were  being  dragged  to  the  gallows, 
that  he  could  distinguish  their  haggard, 
ghastly  features.  He  closed  his  eyes — a 
sense  of  sutFocation  seemed  to  overwhelm 
him,  and  he  knew  not  how  he  got  out  of  the 
crowd,  or  completed  his  journey  to  his  inn 
in  Smithfield,  for  afterwardd  all  seemed  a 
blank. 

It  may  here  be  added,  that  these  villanous 
wretches  were  hanged  at  Tyburn,  accord- 
ing to  their  sentence,  after  having  confessed 
to  a  series  of  murders,  by  secret  poisoning, 
that  made  the  very  blood  run  cold  to  hear. 
Such  was  the  detestation  felt  by  the  citi- 
zens for  their  hellish  practices,  that  the 
house  in  which  they  dwelt  was  presently 
razed  to  the  ground  ;  and,  for  many  years 
afterwards,  many  an  awful  tale  was  told  of 
the  dark  practices  of  the  secret  poisoners 
of  Barbican.  The  rest  of  the  family  disap- 
peared, and  were  never  more  heard  of. 

It  was  not  until  he  found  himself  in  the 
genial  society  of  his  fast  friend,  Master 
Shakspeare,  a  welcome  visiter  at  New 
Place,  that  Doctor  Hall  could  get  out  of 
his  mind  the  terrible  end  of  the  base  wretch 
whose  villanous  arts  hid  cast  such  a  blight 
upon  his  youth.  There,  however,  he  spee- 
dily regained  his  wonted  composure.  Cheer- 
ful society,  continued  intercourse  with 
minds  of  a  pure  and  lofty  character,  could 
not  fail  to  elevate  his  own.  He  soon  found 
himself  taking  a  deep  interest  in  matters 
that  entirely  led  him  away  from  the  past  ; 
and,  as  this  grew  more  engrossing,  the  in- 
fluence of  the  latter  entirely  disappeared. 
But  the  restoration  of  his  mind  to  its  native 
tranquillity  he  owed  rather  to  the  daughter 
than  to  the  father.  Ever  since  their  mutual 
attendance  at  the  sick  bed  of  the  honored 
inmate  of  the  dwelling  in  the  Clink  Liberty, 
they  had  entertained  a  most  favorable  opi- 
nion of  each  other  from  the  amiable  quali- 
ties they  exhibited. 

Many  a  miserable  hour  had  been  bright- 
ened by  the  recollection  of  the  gentle,  self- 
denying  creature,  with  whom  the  young 
physician  had  shared  so  many  anxious  vi- 
gils at  the  bedside  of  Master  Shakspeare  : 
and  it  may  also  be  said  that,  in  the  brilliant 
scenes  in  which  she  afterwards  moved.  Su- 
sanna did  not  forget  the  grave,  pure-minded 
youth,  whose  devotion  to  her  parent  had  so 
entirely  won  her  esteem.  On  their  meeting 
under  happier  aus[)ices,  these  favorable  es- 
timates of  each  were  much  strengthened. 


204 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Tliey  now  possessed  ample  opporlunilies  of 
stU(lyini>-  eacli  other's  dispositic^ii,  and  cvpry 
day  they  gave  to  the  tatk  increased  their 
adnnration. 

'I'hey  were  necessarily  thrown  much  into 
each  other's  society  under  circumstances 
wliicli  allowed  the  cultivation  of  the  most 
agreeable  impressions.  Master  Shakspeare 
was  ever  intent  on  setting  afoot  some  plea- 
sant pastime  in  which  all  those  around  him 
might  join.  One  day,  a  party  went  a-bird- 
ing  to  'J'iddington, — another  a-hunting  in 
Drayton  Bushes,  a  third  a-fishing  by  the 
meadows  no;tr  V\'elford,  a  fourth  they  would 
proceed  to  Hy  their  hawks  along  the  river 
by  Ludington  ;  then  they  would  take  ram- 
bles, perchance,  to  Hampton  Lucy,  or  Low- 
er Clopton,  or  Bardon  Hill,  a  summer-day's 
stroll  in  the  woods,  or  a  moonlit  walk  on  the 
banks  of  the  Avon.  In  all  such  cases,  Mas- 
ter Doctor  Hall  and  Mi.stress  Susanna 
Shakspeare  frequently  found  themselves 
together,  taking  exceeding  delight  in  each 
other's  observations.  Altliough  since  his 
appearance  she  was  observed  to  be  a  shade 
less  grave  than  she  had  been  for  some 
months,  s!ie  was  far  from  being  the  same 
careless-hearted  being  she  had  seemed  dur- 
ing her  appearance  at  the  court  of  France. 

'J'he  young  physician  seemed  to  possess 
unusual  buoyancy.  The  vast  stores  of 
learning  he  had  accumulated  he  gave  out 
with  liberal  hand,  and  took  his  share  in  the 
conversation  with  the  many  noble  spirits 
continiutlly  ajipearing  at  Master  Shaks- 
peare's  hospitable  board,  in  a  way  tint 
shewed  he  was  not  unworthy  of  such  fel- 
lowship. 

Their  mutual  liking  had  been  of  long 
standing,  but  it  appeared  as  though  warmer 
feelings  were  now  exercising  their  influ- 
ence. This  was  not  so  plainly  visible  in 
their  conversation  as  in  their  general  bear- 
ing towards  each  other.  There  was  a  con- 
stant attention  paid  by  the  one  to  the  other's 
feelings  and  sentiments.  Nei  her  expressed 
the  emotions  the  other  had  inspired,  but  a 
thousand  graceful  attentions  gave  evidence 
of  their  existence.  They  were,  however, 
becoming  much  too  strong  to  remain  longer 
undeclared. 

It  chanced  that,  in  one  of  thf>ir  customary 
moonlit  rambles,  which  had  been  prolonged 
somewhat  beyond  the  usu-al  time,  they  con- 
versed in  that  low,  earnest  tone  used  only 
where  the  speaker  speaketh  to  th-^  heart  ra- 
ther then  to  the  ear.  The  subject,  either 
by  accident  or  design,  was  the  possibility 
of  the  existence  of  a  second  attacliment,  af- 
ter the  first  had  ended  in  horrible  disap- 1 
pointment.      The   young   physician,   with  1 


deep  earnestness,  and  a  tremor  in  his  voice 
that  bespoke  the  power!  ul  intenst  he  felt 
in  his  subject,  was  expressing  his  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  the  mind  and  heart  reco- 
vering themselves  even  after  the  terriblcst 
shock. 

Susanna  listened  with  unusual  attention. 
Her  eyes  were  directed  to  the  ground,  and 
her  complexion  .seemed  a  shade  |)aler  than 
ordinary.  There  was  a  balmy  freshness  in 
the  air,  peculiarly  welcome  after  a  sultry 
day ;  and  the  stars  shone  in  the  clear  hea- 
vens with  a  brightness  that  seemed  truly 
magical.  The  mill  and  the  mill-stream 
looked  bathed  in  an  atmosphere  of  liquid 
silver,  that  gleamed  over  the  river,  and  on 
the  neighboring  barn,  the  trees,  and  the 
town  and  church  spreading  out  in  the  near 
distance.  In  briel,  it  was  a  landscape  which 
lacked  nothing  but  a  pair  of  lovers  to  appear 
a  very  paradise  upon  earth.  It  can  hardly 
be  said  that  there  was  any  thing  of  such  a 
sort  wanted  here.  If  the  two  who  walked 
so  quietly  through  this  unfrequented  path 
were  not  lovers,  they  were  in  a  state  as 
near  to  loving  as  it  was  possible  for  them 
to  be  in. 

"  Methinks,"  continued  he, "  nature  would 
be  losing  sight  of  justice,  were  t'le  heart, 
that  hath  already  been  once  strongly  acted 
upon  to  no  end  but  its  own  deep  unhappi- 
ness,  never  to  know  the  genuine  taste  of 
that  extreme  bliss  of  the  which  it  hath  been 
wilfully  cheated.  That  it  doth  so  ha|'pen 
cannot  be  denied, — for,  in  some,  the  shock 
which  misused  affection  endnreth  is  of  that 
t  rrible  sort  that  it  bringeth  all  to  one  con- 
fused ruin  ;  but  as,  in  the  ]  hysical  world, 
we  see  after  the  fiercest  tempests  the  land- 
scape look  more  lovely  than  ever,  so  in  the 
moral  world,  these  rude  tornadoes  may 
sjiend  their  fury,  yet  in  time  there  t-hall 
arise  sensations,  hopes,  and  wishes,  of  that 
goodlier  sort  no  a[)preciation  can  fully  ap- 
praise. 'J'he  clouds  liave  passed  otl";  the 
atmosphere  hath  become  clear  ;  the  mind 
rebounds  from  the  severe  pressure  that  hath 
fallen  on  it  to  an  elevation  far  above  its  or- 
dinary level ;  and  the  sense  of  enjoyment 
becomes  the  more  active,  it  being,  as  it 
were,  a  rebound  from  the  sense  of  misery 
which  preceded  it."' 

Susanna  still  listened  with  downcast  eyes. 

"If  anyone  look  carefully  to  the  laws 
which  govern  the  great  sphere  we  inhabit, 
there  will  be  found  to  be  a  carefully  adjust- 
ed system  of  compensation.  No  injury  is 
done  for  which  a  recompense  is  not  off  red. 
No  loss  is  sustained  which  is  n.t  followed 
by  a  gain.  'J"ho  leaves  that  the  autumnal 
blast  tears   from  the  boughs,  form,  during 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


205 


winter,  a  source  of  nourishment  arH  warmth 
to  the  roots.  The  lira  that  destroy  eH  an  i 
impassable  tangled  thicket,  where  there 
grows  nothing  wholesome,  creates  a  soil 
that  will  speedily  produce  the  richest  ver- | 
dure.  Wherever  there  is  evil,  be  sure  there 
is  some  good  at  hand  to  neutralise  it.  It  is 
not  enough  to  know,  that  the  bee  that 
stingeth  you  an  sting  you  no  more  ;  the' 
true  satisfaction  lieth  in  learning  he  posses- 
ses a  honey-bag,  that  is  at  once  the  best 
remedy  for  the  wound,  and  the  e.xquisitesl 
gratilication  to  the  taste.  When  you  are 
tossed  in  a  storm  thai  mingleth  sea  and  sky 
together,  you  may  draw  comfort  from  tiie 
conviction  that  the  same  mighty  force  which 
plungeth  your  ship  into  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  sends  her  careering  over  tlie  next 
mountainous  billow,  a  good  step  towards  a 
secure  port." 

'J'he  speaker  paused,  but  he  heard  neither 
reply  nor  comment. 

•'And  touching  our  inward  natures," 
said  he.  "  It  standeth  to  reason  that  the 
same  beneficence  should  equally  preside 
there.  Surely  there  is  a  fund  to  draw  upon 
in  case  of  reverses :  and  that  he  who  is  a 
bankrupt  in  heart  shall  find  means  to  begin 
the  world  again  with  fairer  hopes  than  ever. 
Perchance  I  shall  be  better  underslood,  if  I 
])ut  the  case  in  this  sort."  At  this  part  his 
voice  began  to  falter  somewhat.  "  I  will 
say  tlrat  I  have  loved — loved  wholly  and 
most  passionately  ;  but  have  been  made  the 
victim  of  the  most  consummate  craft  and 
treachery.  My  affections  have  sutiijred 
shipwreck,  but  Time,  the  consoler,  hath  at 
last  enabled  me  to  put  to  sea  again,  far 
away  from  any  such  breakers  as  have  done 
me  such  ill  service.  Suppose  it  should 
chance  to  be  my  good  fortune  to  meet  with 
a  person  so  admirably  disposed  as  yourself, 
and,  under  the  influence  of  your  number- 
less sweet  virtues,  I  should  surrender  up 
my  faith,  my  hope,  my  pleasures,  unto  your 
honorable  custody.  Let  it  not  be  conceived 
that,  having  been  robbed  of  my  happiness,  I 
am  so  thorough  a  pauper  in  that  commodity, 
I  am  in  tlie  state  of  him  who  seeketh  a  pro- 
vision out  of  the  abundance  of  another,  on 
the  claim  of  destitution.  So  far  i'rom  the 
sweet  well  of  human  comfort  being  exhaust- 
ed in  me,  it  is  only  in  that  state  which  re- 
quires a  touch  of  genuine  sympathy  to  bring 
it  out  in  more  freshness  and  abundance, 
than  followed  the  smiting  of  the  rock  by  the 
great  law-giver  of  ancient  time.  Well 
then,  excellent  Susanna  ;  in  this  case  I  pre- 
sent myself  before  you — I  look  to  you  for 
the  happiness  I  should  have  found  elsewhere. 
I  require  of  you  to  answer  whether,  knowing 


my  misadventure,  you  can  assure  yourself 
of  the  same  perfectness  of  contcntation,  you 
might  have  looked  for  from  one  who  hath 
had  no  experience  in  such  matters." 

These  words  were  not  expressed  without 
some  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  speaker, 
and  on  the  part  of  the  listener,  wiih  very 
evident  embarrassment.  At  the  conclusion 
of  his  s])eecli,  there  remained  a  pai.se  for 
some  few  minutes  :  the  silence  was  at  last 
broken,  but,  as  it  seemed,  with  no  small 
ditficulty. 

"  The  case  you  have  put,"  answered  she, 
"  of  a  surety,  is  well  worthy  of  attention, 
and  demandeth  some  consideration  in  the 
answering.  Before  I  attempt  this,  I  have 
much  to  say,  that  must  be  said.  I  do  not 
feel  equal  to  enter  into  such  a  matter  at  this 
moment.  Permit  me  some  sufficient  time 
to  think  of  it.  To-morrow,  if  it  please  you, 
we  will  resume  our  walk  in  this  direction, 
when  I  will  unburthen  my  heart  of  a  misery 
which  I  thought  to  have  left  there  undis- 
turbed for  the  rest  of  my  days.  Till  then, 
bear  with  me,  I  pray  you." 

The  walk  was  concluded  in  silence,  but 
this  silence  was  more  eloquent  to  tlie  hearts 
of  both,  than  could  have  been  an  age  of  onli- 
nary  talking.  Soon  afterwards  iiiey  sepa- 
rated. Dr.  Hall  pressed  an  uneasy  pillow 
that  night.  There  was  something  in  the 
parting  words  of  Mistress  Susanna,  that 
seemed  pregnant  with  unpleasant  mystery, 
and  he  thought  it  boded  him  and  his  hopes 
of  happiness  no  good.  She  had  impressed 
on  him  so  firm  a  conviction  of  her  being  es- 
sential to  his  felicity,  if  ever  that  was  to  be 
attained  by  him,  that  any  thing  that  tended 
to  disturb  it  filled  him  with  intolerable  un- 
easiness. 

He  waited  all  the  next  day  with  a  sort 
of  creeping  dread  upon  him,  and  thought 
time  never  hung  so  heavy  as  in  the  hour 
that  interposed  between  their  meeting.  He 
saw  her  not  all  that  day.  As  tlie  tune  drew 
near,  his  uneasiness  increased.  He  imag- 
ined all  sorts  of  unaccountable  strange 
things  that  were  to  affect  his  hopes.  Doubts 
and  misgivings  followed  each  other  in  ap- 
parently endless  succession,  the  hour  at 
last  arrived  for  the  customary  evening  walk, 
but  to  his  exceeding  astonishment,  instead 
of  mistress  Susanna,  came  a  letter  from  her. 
He  opened  it  with  infinite  inquietude,  and 
read  as  follows : 

"  I  tliought  I  could  have  schooled  myself 
into  the  doing  of  a  task,  which  your  late 
advertisement  to  me  hath  rendered  too  abso- 
lute to  be  avoided ;  and  finding  I  am  quite 
unable  to  the  due  performance  of  it,  I  must 
throw  myself  on  your  indulgence,  whilst, 


206 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  whatever  humble  craft  of  pen  I  possess, 
I  proceed  to  it  by  an  easier  method.  Know 
then,  sweet  sir,  tliat  like  youn-^elf  I  have 
loved  witli  all  mine  heart,  one  whom  I  be- 
lieved the  devotion  of  a  thousand  hearts, 
had  I  possessed  them,  were  no  more  than 
his  due.  In  sUition  he  was  so  far  above 
me,  that  I  felt  it  to  be  an  honor  to  have  his 
notice — a  happiness  unspeakable  to  obtain 
his  affection.  For  some  time  he  lived  under 
the  same  threshold  with  myself,  and,  besides 
swearing  himself  my  true  servant,  seemed 
never  to  be  easy  unless  testifying  to  me  how 
much  above  all  other  women  in  the  world 
he  held  me  in  his  esteem.  In  sooth  these 
fine  speeches  gave  me  such  exquisite  con- 
teniation,  that  nothing  on  earth  could  come 
nigh  it.  If  ever  woman  loved  in  all  hon- 
esty of  heart,  and  believed  she  was  loved 
with  a  like  entireness,  I  was  that  happy 
creature.  Of  course  I  thought  him  of  such 
nobleness  of  mind  as  only  angels  are  kin- 
dred of;  I  could  not  for  an  instant  imagine 
that  one  who  looked  so  well  and  spoke  so 
well,  had  any  sort  of  ill-disposedness  what- 
ever. 

"  One  night  we  had  sat  up  late  together, 
and  were  alone,  as  we  had  been  many  times 
before ;  but  of  this  terrible  night,  spare  me, 
I  implore  you,  any  further  history,  than  that 
only  by  a  chance  so  fortunate  as  to  declare 
itself  a  Providence  protecting  a  helpless  and 
almost  fallen  creature,  I  escaped  from  a 
villany  as  deeply  laid  as  it  was  basely  put 
in  practice.  I  held  my  peace,  for  I  saw 
full  well  my  speaking  might  do  much  mis- 
chief, but  could  do  no  good.  Of  him  it  is 
only  necessary  to  say  that  he  had  the  grace 
to  seem  repentant ;  yet  the  outrage  was  too 
gross  to  be  so  readily  overlooked  as  he  ex- 
pected. I  bade  him  avoid  me — 1  would 
have  none  of  him  from  that  time  forth.  My 
heart  ached  for  it  for  many  a  weary  day  and 
sleepless  night,  bat  I  felt  it  was  due  to  my- 
self to  show  such  a  person  I  possessed  that 
sense  of  self-respect  which  is  the  true  armor 
of  proof  to  innocence  and  purity. 

"  I  will  not  deny  i  hat  you,  sweet  sir,  have 
medicined  most  welcomely  to  the  devouring 
misery,  which,  for  no  inconsiderable  time, 
looked  to  have  marked  me  for  its  prey.  The 
influence  of  your  worthiness  has  fallen  on 
my  path  like  a  sunshine,  and  the  shadow 
that  seemed  impenetrable  is  now  dispersing 
rapidly  away.  I  deeply  regret  that  the 
heart  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  desire 
is  too  battered  and  bruised  to  be  worthy  of 
your  possessing ;  but,  if  you  be  in  the  same 
mood  after  the  perusal  of  what  is  here  writ 
down,  be  assured  that,  as  far  as  your  hap- 
piness can  be  secured  by  so  poor  a  source 


of  enjoyment,  there  shall  be  nothing  want- 
ing to  hold  it  as  securely  as  ever  happiness 
was  held  in  this  world.  And  so  Aire  you 
well,  sweet  sir,  till  we  meet  on  the  morrow  !" 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Ease  and  wine 
Have  bred  these  bold  tales :  Poets  when  they 

rage, 
Turn  gods  to  men,  and  make  an  hour  an  age  ; 
But  1  will  give  a  greater  state  and  glory, 
And  raise  to  time  a  noble  memory. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings,  it  became 
the  custom  at  New  Place  to  cheer  away 
the  hours  with  all  manner  of  pleasant  sports, 
Master  Shakspeare  being  ever  ready  to  set 
an  example  of  such  pleasantry,  and  a  jovial 
time  it  was  sure  to  be  when  he  set  the  game 
afoot.  Barley-break,  hunt-the-slipper,  blind- 
man's-buff,  hot-cockles,  and  I  know  not  what 
exquisite  pastimes,  were  going  on  in  the 
hall ;  and  of  the  merry  company  who  en- 
joyed themselves  equally  with  the  host,  be 
sure  there  was  Sir  George  Carew,  our 
young  physician,  Susanna  and  Judith,  Tom- 
my Hart,  Jonas  Tietape,  and  Dick  Quiuey; 
and  the  prodigal  heaps  of  mirth  with  which 
they  garnished  this  pleasantry,  no  pen  can 
sufficiently  express.  When  they  had  tired 
themselves  of  these  several  honest  sports, 
they  would  each  to  his  stool  or  a  corner  of 
the  settle,  and  sit  round  the  hearth,  banter- 
ing, and  jesting,  and  relating  such  things 
worth  the  telling  as  had  come  within  their 
several  observations.  But  the  chief  enjoy- 
ment to  the  greater  number  was  the  telling 
of  stories,  as  hath  been  said,  which,  when 
they  got  in  the  humor,  all  were  obliged  to 
do  in  turn,  and  the  listening  to  such  was 
found  to  be  as  exquisite  pleasure  as  ever 
was  known.  Now,  there  was  some  mar- 
vellous tln-illing  narrative  from  the  host 
which  sent  them  to  their  beds  brimming 
with  wonder,  pleasure,  and  admiration  ;  anon 
came  a  strange  eventful  adventure  among 
the  wild  Irish,  or  some  glance  into  court 
life  by  Sir  George  Carew.  Next  followed 
j  some  touching  tale  of  love  by  Judith  or  Su- 
1  sanna  ;  Jonas  Tietape,  Dick  Quiney,  and 
I  Tommy  Hart,  would  be  content  only  with 
i  tales  of  mirth  ;  and  such  mirth  was  put 
forth  in  them  as  would  have  stirred  a  bed- 
ridden weaver  out  of  his  melancholy.  Joan, 
too,  could  not  but  choose  to  be  in  as  merry  a 
key  as  her  hu.sband  ;  and  our  young  physi- 
cian threw  variety  into  the  series  by  nar- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


207 


rating  scenes  of  sorrow  and  suffering  he 
had  had  notice  of  whilst  practising  the  art 
of  healing  in  England  and  France. 

Of  the  storie.s  that  formed  the  entertain- 
ment of  this  merry  circle,  it  so  chances 
that  the  reader  cannot,  at  this  present, 
have  a  choicer  sample  of  them  than  can  be 
found  in  the  one  here  given,  which  was 
one  niglit  related  by  the  rire-ide  by  no  less 
a  person  than  Sir  George  Carew,  and  called 
by  him 

THE  COURT  FOOL. 

In  a  goodly  chamber,  well  hung  with 
costly  arras  that  was  in  the  palace  of  Hat- 
field, there  sat  a  lady  of  a  very  commenda- 
ble aspect,  though  it  wore  an  expression 
somewhat  serious  withal.  She  was  young 
— that  is  to  say,  nigh  unto  five-and-twenty 
years  of  age,  and  looked  to  be  of  a  fair 
stature.  Her  hair,  of  a  light  red  tint,  where- 
of the  greater  portion  was  concealed  under 
a  small  caul  of  gold  thread,  was  combed  up 
from  the  forehead,  showing  a  right  delicate 
complexion,  and  a  brow  of  a  famous  thougbt- 
fulness.  Her  dress  was  a  close-vested  robe 
of  a  sober  color,  and  without  ornament, 
that  had  nothing  noticeable  about  it,  save 
its  extreme  simplicity  ;  indeed,  in  her  whole 
attiring,  seemly  though  it  was,  there  was 
evidence  of  a  wonderful  modesty  in  the 
wearer,  and  a  marvellous  freedoui  from  that 
common  vanity  of  the  sex  that  deligbteth  in 
the  wearing  of  gaudy  apparel.  She  sat  in 
a  cushioned  arm-'^hair  of  carved  oak,  close 
upon  the  hearth,  seeuiinglyas  if  gazing  up- 
on (he  log  that  was  burning  on  the  tire-dogs 
— for  it  was  the  17th  November — holding 
in  her  lap  what  looked  to  be  a  missal,  or 
other  work  of  the  like  kind,  used  by  Catho- 
lics in  their  devotions  ;  and  she  wore  a  ro- 
sary round  her  neck,  to  the  which  there  was 
athxed  an  ivory  cross.  This  was  no  other 
than  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  at  that  time  resi- 
ding in  a  sort  of  honorable  durance  at  ihe 
royal  palace  of  Hatfield,  by  command  of  her 
sister,  Queen  Mary,  who,  out  of  fear  that 
the  Protestants  of  the  kingdom  would,  in 
consequence  of  her  highncss's  persecution 
of  them,  rise  iu  rebellion,  and  drive  her  from 
the  throne,  to  place  the  Lady  Elizabeth 
thereon,  did  treat  her  with  a  monstrous  lack 
of  sisterly  affection,  kept  her  a  prisoner,  and 
sought  always  to  make  her  disavow  any 
participation  in  the  principles  of  the  Re- 
formed faith  ;  of  which  the  end  was,  that 
the  poor  lady  did  lead  a  most  unhappy  life. 

Doubtless  was  she  reflecting  upon  her 
distressed  condition  at  that  time,  and  ima- 
gining of  some  means  whereby  she  might 
escape  the  snares  with  which  her  enemies 
did  encompass  her  all  around.     Presently 


she  pulled  from  her  bodice  a  letter,  which, 
first  taking  of  a  hasty  glance  around  the 
room  to  see  that  she  was  watched  of  none, 
she  opened,  and  quickly  began  to  read,  it 
was  to  this  effect : — 

"  Count  me  not  a  laggard,  or  one  unmind- 
ful of  your  interests,  I  pray  you  ;  for,  though 
I.  have  not  writ  to  you  so  lonu  a  time,  it 
hath  been  entirely  because  of  my  poor  wit 
not  being  able  to  discover  such  conveyance 
as  would  warrant  me  risking  a  letter.  Me- 
tbinks  now  I  have  hit  upon  such  a  plan  as 
must  be  the  very  safest  of  all  under  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case.  The  bearer  hereof 
is  trustworthy,  and  is  not  like  to  be  suspect- 
ed. You  may  say  to  him  what  your  neces- 
sities require  of  you,  the  which  he  will,  with 
a  proper  cunning,  and  with  all  convenient 
speed,  transmit  to  me  ;  and  at  the  next  fa- 
vorable opportunity  count  upon  having  my 
answer  at  his  hands." 

At  the  perusal  of  this  passage,  the  Lady 
Elizabeth  broke  off,  and  looked  to  be  con- 
sidering of  the  matter  for  a  minute  or  so; 
anon  she  read  on  : — 

"  To  my  certain  knowledge,  you  will  be 
placed  in  great  jeopardy,  mind  you  not  how 
you  carry  yourself,  ftly  lord  cardinal  ap- 
peareth  to  be  sick  of  the  slaughter  that  hath 
been  going  on  among  the  suffering  Protes- 
tants of  this  now  unhappy  country  ;  but 
Bonner  only  getteth  to  be  more  sanguinary, 
the  more  Christian  blood  he  is  allowed  to 
shed.  Her  highness,  as  I  think,  affects  the 
counsels  of  this  recreant  bishop,  more  than 
she  does  those  of  Pole;  and  I  ofttimes 
tremble  for  your  safety,  for  the  loss  of  Ca- 
lais hath  made  her  temper  most  inhuman 
and  bearish.  Doubtless  they  will  strive  for 
the  making  a  convert  of  you.  Regard  not 
their  efforts  with  too  great  an  indiffer- 
ence ;  rather  seek  to  make  them  believe 
that  you  are  ready  to  be  convinced  should 
they  afford  you  proper  argument  for  it.  In 
this  way  shall  you  gain  time,  which  is  of 
vital  moment,  and  keep  them  frnm  all  ex- 
cuse of  violent  measures.  Remember  how 
many  look  to  you  for  the  rescuing  of  un- 
happy England  from  the  Philistines,  by 
wtiom  she  is  oppressed,  and  be  not  regard- 
less of  a  life  so  dear  to  so  vast  a  multitude. 
"From  your  humble,  poor  servant 
"At  commandment, 

"  W.  C." 

The  lady  Elizabeth,  after  carefully  read- 
ing of  this  epistle  some  two  or  three  times, 
with  a  countenance  which  showed  she  was 
pondering  on  its  contents,  stood  up  and  drop- 
ped it  into  the  fire  ;  then,  after  watching  it 
till  it  burned  out,  and,  re-seating  of  herself, 
she  appeared  to  be  intent  upon  perusing  the 


208 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


little  book  she  had  a  while  since  held  in  i 
her  lap. 

"  I  prythee  bold  thy  prate  I"  exclaimed  a 
gentleman  of  a  pleasant  cboeriul  coiinte- 
nanco,  and  somewhat  worsliipt'ul  presence, 
as  be  entered  at  tbe  door.  He  was  closely 
followed  by  as  merry  looking  an  object  as 
eye  could  desire  to  gaze  on.  He  wtire  a 
parti-colured  coat,  fastened  round  tbe  body 
with  a  girdle,  having  a  liood  to  it,  partly 
covering  tbe  head,  and  surmounted  with 
ass's  ears  ;  below  his  coat  be  had  on  close 
breeches,  with  hose  of  diflerent  colors  on 
each  log  ;  and  in  his  band  he  carried  a  short 
stick,  with  an  inflated  bladder  at  one  end, 
and  a  carving  like  unto  a  fool's  head  at 
the  other,  lie  came  into  tbe  room,  whirl- 
ing of  his  stick,  making  strange  grimaces 
and  ridiculous  antics  behind  the  person  be 
followed. 

"  I  prythee  hold  thy  prate,"  repeated  tbe 
gentleman,  but  not  as  if  in  any  way  out  of 
humor. 

"  That  will  I,  master,"  replied  the  other, 
with  a  famous  grave  countenance  ;  "  be  you 
so  civil  as  to  show  me  at  which  end  I  be  to 
hold  it;"  and  then  he  suddenly  brake  out 
into  singing  : — 

"  Myleman  and  I  fell  out,  perdie  ! 

"Witii  my  hey  nonnie,  nounie,  0  ! 
For  love  will  not  last  every  day, 
And  the  summer  grass  soon  turns  to  hay, 
With  my  hey  nonnie — " 

"  Hast  no  better  singing  than  that  in  a 
lady's  bearing  ?"  exclaimed  his  master, 
turning  round  upon  him  rather  sharply. 

"  Ay,  marry  have  I — brave  singing,  I 
warrant  you,  if  it  please  her  ladyship  to  be 
in  a  brave  humor,"'  answered  he;  "I  have 
songs  of  every  color  in  tbe  rainbow,  for  all 
the  several  sorts  of  fancies ;  and  some  that 
be  parti-colored,  for  such  as  God  hath  bless- 
ed with  an  inhnite  proper  disposition  after 
motley." 

"  How  canst  talk  of  the  colors  of  songs, 
fool  ?"  asked  tbe  gentleman.  "  That  must 
needs  be  out  of  all  reasonable  conceit,  seeing 
that  songs  are  made  up  of  sounds  that  can- 
not be  judged  by  tbe  eye.  "  Please  you, 
my  lady,"  added  be,  as  he  advanced  cour- 
teously to  the  Lady  Elizabetli,  who,  undis- 
turbed by  the  entrance  of  her  visiters,  seem- 
ed still  to  be  perusing  of  the  book  she  held 
in  her  hand,  "  seeing  tliat  your  ladyship 
hath  grown  exceedingly  melancholy  of  late, 
I  have  taken  into  my  service  this  varlet,  at 
a  friend's  recommendation,  hoping  he  may 
afford  you  such  entertainment  as  may  ren- 
der your  way  of  life  somewhat  the  more 
agreeable  to  you,  than  I  am  fearful  it  hath 
been  for  this  several  weeks  past." 


"Truly,  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  T  am  much 
beholden  to  you,"  answered  the  lady,  gra- 
ciously. "  ]t  is  long  since  my  poor  condi- 
tion hath  seemed  to  be  regarded  of  any  in 
this  land  ;  yet  happy  am  I  that,  with  an  un- 
tioubled  conscience,  I  can  resign  myself  to 
what  may  come  of  it.  Certes,  mctbinks 
there  must  be  no  offence  so  great  as  that  of 
being  innocent  of  all ;  nevertheless,  it  is  not 
in  my  nature  to  be  altogether  indifferent  to 
the  many  great  kindnesses  I  have  received 
at  your  hands,  tbe  which,  weary  of  my  life 
as  1  am,  I  do  hope,  with  God's  good  help,  I 
may  live  to  requite." 

"  Well,  Heaven  hath  been  wonderfully 
bountiful  to  me,  that  be  a  sure  thing!" 
cried  tbe  fool,  with  a  monstrous  urgency, 
as  he  looked  lo  be  examining  of  some  books 
upon  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber. 

"  How  now,  fool  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Tho- 
mas. 

"  A  grace  of  God,  lady  !"  added  tbe  other, 
in  the  same  tone  and  manner,  as  he  brought 
a  volume  in  his  band  for  her  to  look  at.  "I 
pray  you  say  of  what  this  book  uuiy  be 
about,  and  in  what  tongue  it  be  writ?" 

"  It  containeth  divers  select  oration-s  of 
Isocrates,"  replied  she,  "  written  in  very 
choice  Greek." 

"  And  this  ?"  asked  he,  taking  up  another 
book. 

"  That  is  Sophocles  his  tragedies,  writ  in 
the  same  tongue." 

"  And  this,  and  this  ?"  continued  he, 
showing  a  new  volume,  when  the  last  one 
had  been  named. 

"  The  one  is  no  other  than  the  Holy  Evan- 
gelists ;  tbe  other  those  masterpieces  of  elo- 
quence, the  orations  of  Demosthenes  ;  both 
also  writ  in  Greek,  and  very  delectable 
reading  for  all  scholar-like  and  Christian 
people." 

"  And,  I  pray  you,  tell  me  what  may  be 
these  others  ?"  inquired  tbe  fool,  pointing 
to  many  more  that  were  upon  the  table. 

"  The  one  nigbest  unto  you  is  a  volume 
of  Titus  Livius  bis  histories,  in  excellent 
good  Latin,"  answered  the  Lady  Elizabeth, 
as  courteously  as  if  she  was  holding  con- 
verse with  some  ripe  scholar  or  perscju  of 
worship,  instead  of  being  sso  close  ques- 
tioned of  an  ignorant  poor  fool,  who  pos- 
sessed not  so  much  learning  as  would  mas- 
ter a  horn-book.  "  That  beside  it  is  the 
very  moving  and  truly  admirable  story  of 
Amadis  de  Gaul,  writ  in  French  ;  and  the 
two  that  lie  further  off  are  the  pleasant 
tales  of  Boccaccio  and  Bandello,  writ  in  the 
Italian  tongue  ;  beside  which  there  are  sun- 
dry right  estimable  volumes  treating  of  re- 
ligion,  philosophy,   and  such  other  grave 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


209 


matters  it  be  necessary  for  the  wise  and 
good  to  know  of;  aaci  these  t^e  writ  in  the 
same  sev.Tal  hmgiiages,  as  well  as  some 
that  be  in  English." 

Doubtless,  to  know  all  these  strange 
tongues  requireth  a  wonderful  deal  of  pains- 
taking and  patience  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  'I'hey  cannot  be  well  learned  without, 
nor  can  any  be  accounted  truly  wise  that 
knowetii  them  not,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  Then  they  tliat  be  fools  have  much  to 
be  thankful  for  !"  exclaimed  he,  very  hear- 
tily. 

"  How  so,  knave  ?"  exclaimed  his  mas- 
ter. "  What  have  fools  to  be  thankful  for, 
more  than  wiser  f)lk  ?  that  be  clean  con- 
trary to  common  sense." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave,  master,  I  will  prove 
it  beyond  all  denying,"  replied  the  other, 
with  an  exquisite,  solemn,  foolish  face." 

"  Do  so,  then,  and  quickly,  or  [  will  have 
thee  whipped  over  thy  fool's  pate  with  thine 
own  bauble  !"  added  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Now,  it  be  on  the  face  of  it,  no  man 
can  be  wise  without  he  endure  a  monstrous 
deal  of  trouble  to  make  himself  so." 

"Weil,  varlet !"  exclaimed  bis  master. 

"  Now,  this  trouble,  1  take  it,  is  a  thing 
that  they  be  best  off  who  know  least  of; 
in  hone^it  truth,  it  seemelh  to  be  a  very 
pestilent  sort  of  thing,  and  to  be  eschewed 
of  all  men." 

"  What  then,  knave  ?" 

"  This  much,  master.  Methinks  it  be 
no  way  diificult  to  prove  th:it  a  nun  may 
become  a  Tool,  and  know  not  a  jot  of  trouble 
in  the  becoming." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  said  the  other,  smiling 
at  the  varlet's  exceeding  gravity. 

"  It  Cometh  naturally,  as  peascods  come 
upon  their  stalks,  or  as  a  calf  seeketh  its 
daui — by  a  sort  of  instinct  as  it  were,  or 
disposition  which  a  man  hath  to  bo  a  fool. 
Therefore,  not  being  })ut  to  the  infinite 
trouble  which  waiteth  upon  they  that  seek 
t')  be  wise,  they  that  be  fools  have  much  to 
be  thankful  for!" 

"  Truly,  a  fool's  argument  !"  cried  Sir 
Thomas,  laughingly.  "  Dost  not  think,  my 
lady,  that  the  knave  hath  some  shrewd- 
ness ?"  asked  he,  turning  to  the  lady  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Methinks,  for  a  fool,  he  is  well  enough," 
answered  the  lady,  carelesslj',  as  if  she  took 
not  much  interest  in  the  matter.  At  this 
the  fool  began  to  sing,  with  great  earnest- 
ness— 

"Hush  thee  poor  babe  ! — cold  blows  the  wind. 
Thick  fails  the  rain  upon  tlie  tree  ; 

But  more  regardless — more  unkind. 
Hath  been  thy  father's  heart  to  ine  !" 
11 


"  If  thou  canst  not  sing  better  matter 
than  that,  and  be  hanged  to  thee,  thou  hadst 
best  come  to  a  quick  halt  in  thy  singing," 
exclaimed  his  mister.  '•  lie  such  miserable 
cot-quean  ballads  as  that  the  properest  sort 
of  minstrelsy  for  a  lady's  bower — to  say 
nought  of  its  unfitness  for  one  of  a  inelan- 
choly  humor?" 

"  In  good  fay,  master;  I  knew  not  the 
lady  was  so  disposed,"  replied  the  other. 
Then,  turning  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  added, 
■'  Art  melanciioly  for  lack  of  a  husband,  an 
it  please  you,  my  lady  ?" 

"  By  my  troth,  no,  indeed  !"  answered 
she,  smiling. 

"  Such  things  have  been,  and  much  mis- 
chief come  of  it,"  continued  tlie  fool,  with 
extreme  solomness.  "  Now,  there  be 
two  kinds  of  husbands — to  wit,  your  fool 
husband,  and  your  wise-man  husband  ;  of 
the  which  your  fool  husband  is  ever  in  won- 
derful estimation  of  all  women." 

"  He  must  needs  be  a  fool  who  would  be 
seeking  me  on  such  an  errand  as  marnage," 
observed  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  how  shall  we  distinguish  your  f  jol 
from  your  wise  man  ?"  asked  his  master, 
evidently  in  a  most  cheerful  iiumor. 

"Hearken  to  their  wives  !"  answered  the 
other,  knowingly.  •'  If  you  hear  a  wife  call 
her  husband  '  a  brute,'  be  sure  she  hath 
some  parliculi'r  reason  for't,  there  be  no 
gainsaying.  He  is  one  of  your  wise  men, 
out  of  all  doubt,  who  are  ever  at  their  wives' 
kirtles  ;  whilst  'the  dear  good  man,'  who 
is  so  cuddled  and  praised  of  his  loving  part- 
ner, is,  beyond  all  contradiction,  souie  esti- 
mable famous  fool  or  another,  who  heedeth 
no  more  his  helpmate's  goings-on  than  he 
does  which  side  of  a  Shrovetide  pancake 
getteth  fir.^t  inio  his  mouth." 

"  O'  my  life  !  Sir  Thomas,  methinks  your 
fool  >-p3aketh  but  uncivilly  ot  us  poor  wo- 
men," exclaimed  the  lady,  yet  not  in  any 
way  ungraciously. 

'•  Nay,  he  meaneth  no  harm,  be  assured," 
replied  bis  master.  Here  the  fool,  looking 
pathetically  on  the  head  carved  on  his 
bauble,  burst  out  a-singing — 

"  Oh,  turn  away  those  orbs  of  light, 

Else,  as  the  sun,  where  lires  are  blazing, 
Their  brighter  splendor  dim  my  sight, 
And  I  grow  bUnd  by  rashly  gazing." 

"  r  fiiith,  that  would  be  a  pitiful  mishap, 
indeed!"  cried  the  knight,  with  a  merry 
chuckle  ;  "  but  I  like  not  the  humor  ot  thy 
singing — it  soundrth  as  melancholy  as  a 
hoarse  cuckoo  :  peradventure,  tliou  wilt  now 
explain  thy  conceit  of  having  songs  of  all 
colors,  affirmed  by  thee  as  we  entered  my 
lady's  chamber.     Thou  hast  some  exquisite 


810 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ridiculous  reason  for  it,  I'll  bo  boumi." — 

"  Dear  heart !  I  have  reason  enough, 
and  to  spare,  for  any  honest  man,"  replied 
the  fool ;  "  and  yet,  master,  I  make  no  boast 
of  it.  Forsooth,  there  be  some  who  think 
'tis  a  marvellous  distinction  now-a-days  to 
be  a  tool ;  but  he  u  lio  ventures  to  say  I  am 
prouder  of  it  than  I  onglit  to  be,  is  a  tho- 
rough slanderer,  and  a  siiallow  ])Oor  knave, 
wlio  deserveth  no  better  hap  than  to  have 
his  bniins  beat  out  with  a  tool's  bladder  !" 

"  Well,  knave  ;  but  to  the  matter  !"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Thomas. 

"  And  was  my  mother  of  a  very  excellent, 
fine  virtue  ?"'  continued  the  other,  with  in- 
creasing earnestness.  "  Ay,  that  was  she 
— and  every  one  had  a  wonderful  apprecia- 
tion of  her  exceeding  virtuousness.  Indeed, 
it  be  well  known  she  was  sought  after  by 
so  many  husbands,  she  never  bad  tiu)e  to 
marry  one  of  'em. 

"  That  showeth  the  respect  her  virtue 
was  held  in,  of  a  surety,"  observed  the 
knight  merrily.  "  But  to  thy  conceit  of  the 
colors  !" 

"  Ay,  master,  and  hugely  to  her  credit  ; 
she  brought  up  a  htrge  fannly — and  one  of 
'em  is  a  fool,"'  added  he.  assuming  of  some 
dignity.  "  Nay,  it  hath  been  said  by  divers 
persons  of  worship,  that  you  shall  tind  him 
to  be  as  pretty  a  fool  as  any  that  live  ;  but 
he  hath  not  the  presiunption  to  think  him- 
self a  greater  fool  than  his  betters." 

"  To  thy  reason  of  the  songs,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee  !"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  catch- 
ing up  the  bauble,  and  hitting  the  fool  two 
or  three  sharp  thumps  over  the  pate  with 
the  bladder,  and  yet  as  if  he  was  in  a  humor 
of  laughing  all  the  time;  whilst  the  Lady 
Elizabeth,  as  was  evident,  could  not  forbear 
smiling 

"  N;iy,  master,"  exclaimed  the  fool,  duck- 
ing his  head  here  and  there  to  avoid  the 
blows,  "  if  you  kill  me,  I  doubt  you  will 
have  it  a  bit  the  cpiicker.  I  will  about  it 
o'  the  instant,  please  you  to  stay  your 
thumping  !'' 

"  O'  my  word,  I  will  send  thee  to  the 
grooms  to  be  well  cudgelled  of  them,  hear  I 
any  more  of  such  prating,"  said  his  master, 
desisting  from  his  exertions. 

"  1  pray  you  do  not,"  cried  the  other,  with 
much  seriousness.  "  Believe  me,  cudgel- 
ling hath  not  agreed  with  me  at  any  time.  I 
never  look  it  kindly.  But  concerning  of 
the  songs  I  will  speak." 

"  Tliou  hadst  best,"  observed  the  knight. 

"  There  be  songs  of  divers  colors,  out  of 
all  doubt,"  continued  the  fool.  "  In  the 
first  place,  there  is  your  sad-colored  sonir, 
whicii  be  no  other  than  a  ballad  that  wear- 


elh  a  perpetual  suit  of  mourning.  It  al- 
ways Cometh  close  upi»n  the  heels  of  a  tra- 
gedy, or  other  dolefid  occasion,  and  is  as 
apt  at  a  funeral  as  an  undertaker.  Now 
those  that  do  most  affect  your  sad-colored 
song  are,  perchance,  a  maid  who  hath  lost 
lier  lover,  or  any  oilier  small  matter  there 
be  no  likelihood  of  her  recovering — a  thief 
that  hath  his  neck  being  fitted  with  a  rope's- 
end — and  a  debtor  that  findeth  himself  with- 
in four  stone  walls,  and  no  chance  of  get- 
ting out.  And  thus  sing  they."  There- 
upon, in  an  intinite  melanch  )ly  voice,  and 
with  a  very  pathetic  countenance,  he  sung 
these  lines : 

"  Oh,  woe  is  me  !  oli,  doleful  strait ! 

Now  inhie  Is  sonovv's  pieieiug  thorn; 
Oil,  luckless  hour  ! — oli,  crufl  late  ! 

Alack  that  ever  I  was  born  !" 

"  In  honest  truth,  there  can  be  no  doubt- 
ing of  what  color  such  a  song  should  be," 
observed  Sir  Thomas. 

"  But  my  troth,  it  be  a  very  sad  color,  in- 
deed,"-added  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  in  a  hke 
humor. 

"  An  it  please  you,  my  lady,  so  it  is," 
said  the  fool.  "  Now  your  flame-colored 
song  is  of  a  clean  contrary  sort.  It  be  full 
of  heat.  It  burns,  as  it  were.  In  fact,  its 
complexion  be  much  the  same  as  though  it 
were  taken  out  of  the  fire,  red-hot ;  and  I 
doubt  not,  were  it  well  hammered  on  a 
blacksmith's  anvil,  there  would  be  sparks 
fly  from  it  presently.  The  matter  of  this 
song  be  ever  of  love;  therefore,  it  s  no 
marvel  that  it  is  in  wonderful  great  request 
of  all  your  young,  your  middle-aged  ;  ay, 
and  your  old  oft  alfect  it  in  no  small  mea- 
sure— after  such  a  fashion  as  this."  'i'hen, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  heart,  he,  with  a 
look  of  famous  atlectionateness,  commenced 
the  singing  of  these  words  : 

"  As  burning  coal, 

I  find  my  soul 
Doth  glow  with  Love's  divine  desires: 

But  in  the  blaze 

Thine  image  ]>lays, 
A  phoEnix  rising  from  its  fires  !" 

"  Methinks  the  singing  of  such  a  song 
should  save  coal  and  candle  all  the  winter," 
remarked  the  knight. 

"  r  faith,  the  flame  of  it  seemeth  so  appa- 
rent, I  marvel  it  burn  not  the  house  over 
our  heads  !"  cried  the  lady,  with  a  manner 
as  though  quite  forgetting  of  her  melan- 
choly. 

"Certes,  if  the  timbers  be  dry  enough, 
lady,  such  should  be  the  case,"  observed 
the  fool,  very  seriously.     "  Of  other  songs, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


211 


that  shall  easily  be  known  by  their  colors, 
there  is  your  watchet-co^ored  sono",  which 
Cometh  al-o  of  a  lover's  fantasy.  In  it  you 
may  expect  to  iind  ail  the  flowers  of  speech 
culled  to  form  a  posy  of  compliments.  Then 
Cometh  your  yellow  sono^.  which  hath  ever 
a  very  jaundiced  look  with  it,  and  is  in  huge 
request  with  your  outrageous,  com'uu-tious 
jealous  pates,  and  thorough-going  cuckoldy 
knaves.  After  this,  there  is  your  green 
song,  which  shall  be  known  by  its  conceit 
of  vegetation,  as — 

"  0,  the  green  willow  ! 
I'll  have  for  my  pillow ;" 

or,  with  a  like  wofulness — 

"  The  green,  green  grass  shall  form  my  bed, 
Alack  and  well-a-day,  0  ! 
And  the  cold,  cold  stone  shall  hold  my  head, 
Whllr^t  worms  on  me  shall  prey,  0  !" 

These  be  such  pitiful  ballads  as  are  chosen 
of  those  wiio  ofltimes  take  to  an  ngly  fash- 
ion of  tving  their  garters  hijiher  than  need 
be;  or,  like  new-hatched  ducklings,  rush 
to  the  nighest  pond  as  their  propere-t  place. 
Then,  look  to  encounter  your  orange-tawny 
song,  an  exceeding  brave-hearted  ditty — 
free  as  nir — with  an  amorous  countenance, 
well  embrowned  with  tropical  sunshine. 
Close  iipon  which  cometh  your  nut-brown 
song,  which  is  snre  to  smack  of  a  tankard, 
and  is  likf  to  be  in  more  estimation  of  a  tap- 
ster, than  the  whole  Book  of  Psalms.  They 
do  say  it  oi\eth  more  provocation  to  drink 
than  a  pi  kled  herring  ;  therefore,  will  I 
not  essay  the  singing  of  it,  an  it  please  you, 
master,  el^e  shall  it  chance  to  make  me  dry, 
and  a  dry  fool  cannot  help  being  as  sorry  a 
commodity  as  heart  could  desire." 

"Gad  a  mercv,  fellow, thou  sayesttrue  !"' 
exclaimed  Sir  Thomas,  evidently  amused, 
as  seemed  the  Lady  Elizabeth  also,  with 
the  famous  droll  seriousness  with  which  the 
fool  spoke  the  last  sentence,  as  he  appeared 
intent  npon  the  examinfition  of  his  lincrers. 
"  But  here  is  a  groat  for  thee,  and,  if  that 
will  not  stay  thy  drought,  get  thee  to  the 
buttery,  and  say  I  sent  thee  for  a  drink  of 
good  ale." 

As  the  fool  was  making  his  acknowledg- 
ments for  his  largess,  which  he  did  in  very 
prodigal  fishion.  there  entered  a  groom  of 
the  chambers,  announcing  the  arrival  of 
some  person  who  would  have  instant  speech 
with  Sir  Thomas  Pope  on  a  matter  of  e.x- 
ireme  urgency,  whereupon  Sir  Thomas 
bade  the  fool  stay  where  he  was  awliile, 
and,  with  a  courteous  speech  to  the  lady, 
hoping  the  varlet  might  afford  her  some  en- 
tertainment, he  presently  took  liis  leave. . 


No  sooner  was  he  out  of  the  chamber,  and 
the  fool  left  alone  with  the  lady,  than  tlie 
former,  on  a  sudden  dropping  of  Jiis  appear- 
ance of  foolishness,  seemed  listening  to  the 
retreating  footsteps  with  a  countenance  of 
intense  interest;  then  went  he  and  opened 
the  door  and  looked  out,  and  after  that  kept 
spying  about  the  arras  hangings  very  curi- 
ously, the  lady  all  the  while  regarding  iiim 
with  a  wonderful  earnestness.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  approached  his  companion,  in  a 
manner  marvellous  respectful,  and,  going 
close  up,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  '•  I  pray  you, 
my  lady,  tell  me,  iiave  you  read  Sir  Wil- 
liam Cecil's  letter  ? — the  which,  though  it 
hath  been  in  my  hands  ten  days,  could  I 
find  no  opportunity  for  its  safe  deliverance 
till  noonday  yesterday,  when,  as  Sir  Tho- 
mas was  in  close  converse  with  tiie  priest 
in  the  park,  I  slipped  it  in  the  posy  ot  dan- 
delions and  daisies,  and  such  poor  weeds  I 
was  then  gathering,  and  gave  unto  you." 

'•  In  truth,  yes,"  said  tlie  lady,  still  re- 
garding him  closely,  and  speaking  in  an 
under-tone  ;  "  I  iiave  read  it,  but  I  marvel 
greatly  Sir  William  Cecil  should  show  such 
an  intinite  lack  of  discretion  as  to  make 
choice  of  such  a  messenger.  That  busi- 
ness must  needs  come  to  a  foolish  ending 
tliat  hath  a  fool  to  meddle  with  it." 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  lady,  take  me  not 
for  what  I  have  appeared,"'  replied  the 
other,  earnestly.  "  This  is  nothing  but  a 
device  put  on  for  the  better  carrying  on  of 
our  purposes,  and  watching  over  your  safe- 
ty. Think  not  that  my  worthy  and  approved 
friend.  Sir  William,  would  have  set  me  on 
such  service,  had  he  not  first  looked  narrow- 
ly into  my  titness.  I  hope  to  prove  myself 
your  assured  good  servant  and  poor  bonds- 
man ;  hinder  you  not  my  service.  It  is  an 
excellent  fine  plot,  my  lady  ;  and  I  doubt 
not  to  carry  it  on  with  such  singular  cun- 
ning, that  you  shall  reap  by  it  much  benefit, 
and  with  Gi  d's  good  help  be  rescued  from 
your  present  troubles." 

■'I  would  your  hope  could  be  accom- 
plished," replied  the  Lady  Elizabeth  ;  '•  but, 
1  pray  you,  tell  me  to  whom  I  am  indebted 
for  such  ready  zeal  in  my  beiialf." 

"  My  name  is  Thomas  Challoner,"  an- 
swered ho ;  "  a  poor  gentleman  of  some 
small  credit  with  his  fellows,  and  not  alto- 
gether deficient  of  that  experience — at  least 
so  it  hath  been  thought — necessary  to  one 
who  is  ambitious  of  devoting  his  life  in  the 
cause  of  the  very  fairest  and  most  excellent 
princess  in  Christendom." 

"  I  heartily  thank  you.  Master  Challoner," 
said  his  companion,  very  graciously  ;  '•  I 
would  it  were  iu  my  power  to  recompense 


212 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


you  as  j'onr  jrroat  pains-tnking,  aiitl  roady- 
tlirustiii<i'  youiaelt' into  clanger  lor  my  sake, 
merit;  but,  assfure  yourscll,  1  v\ill  ever  hold 
in  my  lieart  a  oratefui  rcmernbrancc  of 
your  infinite  goodness  towards  me,  and  that 
I  live  in  the  extreme  liope  of  one  day  or 
other  making  you  such  poor  amends  as  my 
ability  may  allow." 

"  Talk  not  of  it,  I  prny  you,  my  lady," 
exclaimed  Master  ('halloner,  respectfully. 
"Believe  m(>,  the  honor  I  find  in  what  I 
have  undertook  excecdeth  all  that  the  proud- 
est monarch  could  bestow  ;  but  rather,  if  it 
60  please  you,  for  the  time  is  precious,  pive 
me  some  answer  to  the  letter  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Cecil" 

"  Tell  him,  then,  from  me,  worthy  sir,  I 
have  done  all  that  he  would  have  me  do,  ere 
his  letter  came  into  my  hands,"  replied  the 
Lady  Elizabeth.  "  This  same  meddlesome 
and  violent  priei-t.  Master  Dr.  Crosier,  whom 
I  suspect  Bonner  hath  sent  here  to  worry 
me  into  my  grave,  hath  essayed  all  the  hot- 
test zeal  and  furious  bigotry  could  do  for  my 
conversion  ;  he  hath  persecuted  me  night 
and  mom  with  the  horrililest  threatenings 
and  terriblest  denunciations,  giving  me  rea- 
son to  believe  that  her  Highness  is  thirsting 
for  my  blood,  and  that  nougiit  could  ensure 
my  safety  but  the  complete  renunciation  of 
my  Protestant  errors,  and  the  declaring  of 
myself  a  member  of  his  infallible  church  : 
whereupon,  weary  of  his  persecutions,  and, 
in  truth,  almost  weary  of  my  life,  and,  scarce 
knowing  which  way  to  turn  in  my  extre- 
mity, I  heard  mass,  and  confessed  to  him, 
and  in  all  things  outwardly  appeared  as  he 
would  have  me,  though  in  heart,  as  (Jod  is 
my  judge,  I  am  as  true  a  Protestant  as  ever 
lived." 

Master  Challoncr  listened  to  this  avowal 
with  a  countenance  of  much  anxiousness, 
but  at  its  ending  brightening  up  somewhat, 
he  added — 

"  Methinks  'tis  well  it  is  no  worse.  I 
grieve  from  my  heart  that  your  sufferings 
should  have  been  so  great;  but,  knowing 
the  nature  of  those  who  have  greatest  influ- 
ence in  your  late,  I  know  they  are  in  a 
manner  natural,  and  to  be  expected.  I  be- 
seech you,  my  lady,  think  me  not  over-bold 
if  I  offer  to  advise  you  in  this  strait,  for  I 
know  better  than  yourself  the  many  dangers 
that  encompass  you.  From  what  I  have 
lately  learned  from  a  creditable  source,  1 
believe  this  to  be  the  criticallest  time  of  all 
your  life  ;  and  therefore  I  pray  you.  in  com- 
pany with  all  your  assured  friends,  take 
good  heed  of  what  you  do;  appear  what 
you  like,  but  pledge  yourself  to  nothing; 
Btir  not  your  tyrants  against  you,  if  you ' 


can  help  it;  but  sign  no  papers  that  shall 
bind  you  to  be  their  servittr  in  altertimes  ; 
delay,  and  keep  delaying,  should  they  press 
you  upon  any  such  matters,  lor  you  shall 
find  such  policy  of  the  very  utmi,sl  conse- 
quence to  your  present  salety  and  future 
welfare." 

Whilst  this  conversation  was  proceeding, 
three  persons  had  been  in  a  secret  debate  in 
another  chamber  of  the  palace.  One  seem- 
ed to  have  rode  hard  and  fast  upon  a  jour- 
ney, for  lie  sat  wijiing  of  his  face  with  a 
napkin,  though  he  talked  earnestly  all  the 
wliile  ;  beside  which,  the  rowels  of  his 
spurs  were  of  a  sanguine  tinge,  showing 
he  had  spared  not  his  horse  as  lie  came ; 
and  his  apparel  was  so  covered  with  dirt 
and  dust,  that  it  was  hard  to  tell  of  what 
color  or  material  it  might  be.  He  was 
stoutly  built,  and  his  features  had  some- 
wiiat  of  a  stern  and  unpleasant  ca>t  with 
theui.  Close  upon  him  stood  one  of  a  spare 
body,  tall,  with  a  sharp,  thin  face,  of  a 
dark  complexion,  beetling  eyebrows. hooked 
nose,  and  thick  bushy  black  beard,  dressed 
in  the  habit  of  an  ecclesiastic,  wiio  seemed  to 
be  listening  to  the  other  with  so  severe  an 
earnestness,  it  was  evident  that  the  matter 
they  talked  of  was  of  huge  importance  ;  and 
occasionally  he  would  interrupt  the  speaker 
with  questions,  to  which  the  other  gave  an- 
swers that  appeared  only  the  more  to  in- 
crease the  number  of  such  inquiries.  Op- 
posite to  him,  leaning  against  a  table,  on 
which  was  a  hat,  whip,  and  gloves,  as  if 
carelessly  thrown  there,  stood  the  more 
courtly  tigure  of  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  with  a 
countenance  full  of  anxiety  and  interest,  as 
he  listened  or  took  part  in  the  discourse. 

"  Then  there  must  be  no  time  lost,"  ob- 
served the  ecclesiastic,  as  the  other  came  to 
a  pause  in  his  speech.  "  Hast  got  the  pa- 
pers tliat  honorable  and  truly  Christian  pre- 
late, my  lord  bishop,  gave  you,  worthy  sir?" 

"  Here  are  they,  safe  enough,  I  warrant 
you,  master  doctor,"  replied  the  other,  pro- 
ducing some  papers  from  his  vest. 

"  Then  come  you  with  me.  Sir  Thomas  ; 
we  will  to  her  on  the  instant!"  added  he, 
who  had  been  styled  doctor,  as  he  look  the 
papers  into  his  own  hands. 

"  1  trust  you  will  use  no  violence,  Dr. 
Crosier,"  said  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  as  the 
other  two  seemed  about  to  leave  him. 
"  This  is  an  affair  of  great  peril,  nor  am  I 
sure  Bishop  Bijuner  hath  proper  warrant 
for  setting  you  upon  it." 

"  It  is  for  her  soul's  comfort,  and  the 
good  of  the  true  church!"  exclaimed  the 
ecclesiastic,  regarding  Sir  'I'homas  with 
some  severity.     "  Methinks  iJiat  bo  proper 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


213 


warrant  enough  ;  and  I  marvel  that  any  of 
our  iioly  faith  should  say  aught  against  it. 
I  charge  yon,  as  you  value  your  soul's  wel- 
fare, see  that  none  enter  at  tliese  gates  till 
we  return  to  this  chumher.  This  is  God's 
own  wo'K  we  are  a!x)Ut,  and  1  doul  t  not  to 
make  it  the  greatest  victory  ever  achieved 
over  the  accursed  heresy  that  plagues  this 
unhapfiy  land." 

At  hearing  this,  Sir  Thomas  reverently 
bowed  his  iicad,  though  in  his  countenance 
it  was  evident  he  was  exceeding  anxious 
for  the  issue  ;  and  then  Dr.  (Jrosier  and  his 
companion,  all  dusty  as  lie  was,  took  them- 
selves out  of  the  chamber.  As  they  walked 
along,  they  conversed  with  each  other  in 
Latin  ;  and  so  intmt  were  they  on  what 
they  were  saying,  that  tiiey  noticed  not  one 
close  upon  their  footsteps. 

"  How  now,  fool '?"  cried  Dr.  Crosier 
sharply,  as  he  all  at  once  discovered  he  was 
followed. 

"  Forsooth,  and  may  it  please  your  rever- 
ence," said  Master  Challoner,  in  as  foolish 
a  manner  as  was  ever  seen,  "  I  have  heard 
it  said  that  the  ways  of  holy  men  were  in 
the  paths  of  righleout-ness,  and  wishing  to 
get  as  nigii  heaven  as  a  fool  can,  I  ttiought 
it  good  to  bring  my  toes  and  your  rever- 
ence's h'-els  in  as  close  acquaintance  as  pos- 
sible, that  1  might  be  all  the  more  sure  of 
the  right  patii." 

"  Begone,  fellow,  or  your  bones  shall  ache 
for  it !"  exclaimed  masier  doctor. 

"  Nay,  O'  my  life,  I  will  tread  on  your 
heels  as  little  as  may  be!"  added  the  as- 
sumed fool,  very  movingly. 

"  Get  you  not  gone  this  instant,  I  will  see 
you  have  such  a  cudgelling,  as  you  shall 
bear  in  remembrance  to  your  life's  end." 

At  this  the  other  began  to  whimper,  and, 
mbhing  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve,  turned 
himself  round, and  proceeded  slowly  the  way 
he  came. 

"  Thinkest  thou,  he  heard  aught  of  onr 
speech  ?"  inquired  he  who  was  styled  Sir 
Topas,  as  they  continued  their  walk  and 
their  discourse. 

'•It  matters  not,"  replied  Dr.  Crosier; 
"he  is  a  very  fool,  without  learning  of  any 
kind." 

Soon  afterwards  they  arrived  at  that  part 
of  the  palace  where  the  lady  Elizabeth  had 
her  lodging,  and,  gaining  admittance  to  her 
chamber,  found  her  seated  in  a  recess, 
where  the  window  looked  out  upon  the  park 
and  grounds,  as  if  seriously  intent  upon  the 
perusal  of  the  same  little  volume  of  pra3'ers 
she  had  in  hand  a  while  since. 

"  Glad  am  1  to  find  you  so  well  disposed," 
said  Dr.  Crosier,  alter  some  civil  greeting 


betwixt  him  and  ihe  lady.  "  Doubtless  your 
ladyship  tindeth  excellent  comfort  from  the 
contemplation  of  such  true  piety  and  mar- 
vellous tine  wisdom  as  may  be  found  in 
those  homilies." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  find  in  them  exceeding  com- 
fort!''  answered  the  lady  Elizaljeth. 

"  Surely,  you  had  no  such  satisfaction 
from  aught  appertaining  to  that  pestilent 
heresy  m  which  you  had  the  ill-hap  to  get 
instructed?"  inquired  the  divine. 

"Methinks,  no,"  responded  his  apparent 
convert. 

"  Believe  me,  there  can  be  no  compari- 
son," added  Dr.  Oosier ;  "and  I  doubt  not, 
ere  long,  you  shall  receive  such  delight — 
seek  you  with  all  your  heart  and  soul  to  be 
a  good  Catholic — as,  before,  you  have  had 
no  knowledge." 

•'  1  humbly  trust  I  may  become  so  deserv- 
ing," answered  the  lady. 

Thus  went  they  on  for  some  time,  he 
with  great  persuasiveness  assuring  her  of 
the  wonderful  content  she  must  find  in  the 
doctrines  of  what  he  styled  the  only  church 
in  which  rested  the  saving  of  souls;  and 
she,  with  a  wonderful  resignation,  seeming 
to  assent  to  everything,  yet  pledging  herself 
to  nought. 

'■  Methinks,  now,  I  cannot  doubt  of  your 
conversion,"  said  this  ecclesiastic  at  last ; 
•'  with  the  which  I  am  the  more  pleased,  as 
her  Highness,  at  my  report  of  your  complete 
casting  away  the  wretched  schism  with 
which  you  had  been  aftVcted.  hath  sent  one 
of  her  chaplains,  my  estimable  and  very 
learned  friend  here.  Sir  'i'opas  Fletcher,  to 
see  that  ym  have  truly  done  what  I  have 
reported." 

"  Truly,  honorable  lady,"  exclaimed  his 
companion,  now  addressing  the  lady  Eliza- 
beth for  the  first  time,  "  what  Dr.  Crosier 
hath  st  ited  is  not  a  whit  from  the  truth." 

"  And  moreover,  he  hath  brought  from 
her  Highness,"  continued  master  doctor, 
producing  and  opening  a  paper,  "a  written 
recantation  of  your  errors,  which,  it  is  ex- 
pected, you  will  sign  without  any  demur  or 
delay." 

The  lady  Elizabeth,  without  expressing 
any  objection,  took  the  paper  into  her  hand, 
and  read  it  carefully,  the  two  priests  regard- 
ing her  all  the  whilst  with  a  st  vere  scrutiny. 
She  discoverid  that  it  contained  not  only  a 
solemn  declaration  of  her  true  and  steadfast 
participation  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Church 
of  Rome,  but  promised,  on  the  event  of  her 
attaining  the  English  crown,  to  do  her  ut- 
most to  extirpate  heresy  out  of  the  land  ; 
and  in  case  of  any  remi.«sness  on  her  part 
in  such  godly  and  laudable  endeavors,  re- 


214 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


noiincod  all  natural  right  and  claim  to  tlje 
throne,  now  and  lor  ever  after." 

"  There  is  matter  in  this  that  reqiiiretli 
deep  consideration,"  observed  she,  assinning 
an  indilKrence  slie  felt  not  at  all. 

"  And  moreover,"  continued  master  doc- 
tor, producing  another  paper,  "  iier  High- 
n'.  ss  liath  sent  liere  a  warrant  for  your  com- 
mittal tothe  Tower,  in  Ciisc  you  hesitate  in 
the  innnediate  signing  of  what  is  required 
of  you." 

The  lady  Elizabeth  then  examined  the 
second  paper,  and  finding  it  to  be  a  warrant, 
as  had  been  stated,  for  her  imprisonment, 
and  'hat  it  bore  Queen  Mary's  signature, 
her  heart  was  smote  witii  a  sudden  fear,  for 
she  knew  full  well,  went  she  to  the  Tower, 
her  enemies  would  grant  her  no  peace  till 
they  had  taken  her  life.  It  was  well  re- 
membered of  her,  at  that  moment,  that  she 
had  been  advised  to  seek,  by  every  means 
she  could,  to  gain  time  if  pressed  on  any 
such  matter  ;  but  the  liapless  lady  felt  a  pre- 
sentiment that,  in  such  an  extremity,  all 
such  endeavor  would  be  fruitless. 

"  I  pray  you  lose  no  time,  if  it  please  you. 
my  lady,"  here  observed  master  chaplain, 
with  some  eagerness  ;  "  for  I  promised  her 
Highness  I  would  not  stay  an  hour  at  Hat- 
field, without  your  signature,  or  yourself  in 
my  custody." 

"  Here  is  pen  and  ink  ready  at  hand," 
said  the  other,  as  he  brought  them  from  the 
table  where  the  books  were. 

"  Surely  there  be  no  need  of  such  ex- 
treme haste,"  remarked  the  lady  Elizabeth. 
"  There  yet  remain  many  matters  of  doc- 
trine of  the  which  I  have  no  certain  knowl- 
edge ;  and  my  conscience  will  not  allow  me 
to  atte.-t  my  conviction  of  the  truth  of  that 
I  am  ignorant." 

"  I  doubt  not  you  are  a  sufficient  Cath- 
olic for  the  purjiose  required  of  you,"  an- 
swered Ur.  Crosier ;  "  and,  as  there  can  be 
no  delaying  now,  her  Highness's  orders  are 
so  strict,  1  [iromise  you,  on  your  dismissing 
master  chaplain  with  the  necessary  docu- 
ment, without  more  words  snid,  1  will  m  ike 
it  my  business  to  give  you  daily  instruction 
in  every  minutest  point  of  failli  profcssHd  by 
all  true  Catholics,  till  you  shall  be  as  learn- 
ed in  them  as  is  my  Lord  of  London  him- 
self." 

"  But  grant  mc  some  preparation,"  ex- 
claimed she,  as  one  held  out  the  pen  for  her, 
while  the  other  unfolded  the  paper.  "  Sure- 
ly, on  a  matter  so  vital,  I  may  have  time 
afibrded  for  proper  retlection  ?" 

"  Nay,  it  cannot  be,"  said  Sir  Topas.  "  I 
myself  heard  her  Highness  say,  the  signing 
of  such  a  declaration  would  be  a  lest  of 


your  sincerity  and  affectlonatcness  towards 
"her." 

"  The  which,  if  you  made  any  to  do 
about,"  added  master  doctor,  "  Ik  r  llighness 
would  judge  your  late  behavior  as  liypocrit- 
ical,  and  put  on  the  better  to  hide  some 
treasonable  practices  you  are  privately  en- 
gaged in,  of  which  she  hath  coustaiit  intel- 
ligence; and,  moreover,  I  heard  her  High- 
ness affirm,"  continued  the  chaplain  with 
increasing  earnestness,  "  should  you  attempt 
to  evade  tlie  signing  of  that  p.i):cr.  no  pun- 
ishment should  be  scvf^re  enough  for  you  ; 
for  it  was  plain,  whatever  appearance  you 
put  on,  you  were  in  heart  a  plotter  of  trea- 
son, a  black  heretic  and  a  false  woman." 

In  vain  the  poor  lady  tried  all  sorts  of 
excuses,  and  brought  fi^rward  all  manner  of 
pretexts  for  delay.  She  wished  first  to 
write  to  her  Highness;  she  would  rather 
defer  the  signing  for  a  week,  till  to-morrow 
at  noon  :  in  vain  she  prayed  to  be  left  alone 
for  a  single  hour — the  two  priests  were  in- 
flexible; it  was  more  than  their  lives  were 
worth  to  allow  of  any  such  thing.  Her 
Highness  was  imperative,  and  the  signing 
must  be  without  the  delay  of  a  single  mo- 
ment. Bewildered,  and  in  great  j)i  rplexity 
of  mind,  seeing  no  help  for  it,  and  fearful 
of  the  consequences  if  she  refused  what 
was  required,  the  Lady  Elizabeth  was  about 
to  take  the  pen  in  her  hand,  when  she  spied 
a  company  of  horsemen  riding  post-haste 
towards  the  palace,  which,  the  other  two 
seeing,  they  regarded  each  other  with  some 
uneasiness,  and  their  brows  grew  black  of 
a  sudden. 

"  I  can  tarry  here  no  longer !"'  cried  the 
chaplain,  with  more  severity  than  he  had 
yet  used.  "  Hither  come  the  escort  to  con- 
vey you  to  the  Tower." 

"  Surely  never  was  woman  so  much  her 
own  enemy  before  !"  exclaimed  master  doc- 
tor, with  an  exceeding  stern  aspect.  ■'  You 
are  hurrying  your  head  to  the  block." 

"  I  pray  you  pardon  me,  but  1  like  not  be- 
ing in  such  monstrous  speed,"  observed  the 
Lady  Elizabeth,  at  last  taking  the  pen  into 
her  hand.  At  this  the  two  ecclesiastics 
looked  with  a  sort  of  smile.  "  At  least  I 
will  again  peruse  what  is  here  writ,  that  1 
may  not  be  in  ignorance  of  what  I  am 
signing,"  added  she. 

'•  Nay,  by  the  mass,  but  once  reading 
must  serve  your  turn  this  time  I"  exclaimed 
Sir  Topas,  somewhat  rudely. 

"  O'  my  word,  lady,  this  is  but  trifling 
with  us!"  cried  Dr.  Crosier,  in  a  like  un- 
civil manner. 

"  By  your  leave,  w'orfhy  master  ('ocfor,  I 
must  needs  re-pcrusc  tliis  paper  ere  1  sign," 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


215 


answered  the  lady ;  and  despite  all  they 
■could  say  or  do,  she  not  only  commenced 
reading  of  it  slowly,  sentence  by  sentence, 
but  made  remarks  on  such  passages  as 
seemed  to  demand  obsei  vation  ;  wherein 
she  was  constantly  interrupted  by  the  im- 
patience ol  her  companions,  who,  at  last, 
got  to  be  so  desperate  to  liave  her  do  their 
bidding  without  turtlier  hindrance  or  loss  of 
time,  that  tliey  lost  all  resj;ect  in  their  be- 
havior, and  they  looked  to  have  more  of  the 
restless  eagerness  of  lunatics  than  the  so- 
briety of  doctors  of  the  church.  Neverthe- 
less, she  dipped  not  her  pen  in  the  ink  till 
she  had  coiue  to  the  end  of  the  paper.  At 
this  moment  there  was  a  loud  outcry  heard, 
mingled  with  a  great  knocking. 

"  What  noise  is  that  ?"  asked  she,  eager- 
ly, doubtless  glad  to  avail  herself  of  any- 
thing that  gave  her  a  delay,  was  it  of  a 
single  moment.  Her  two  compunions  ap- 
peared moie  alarmed  than  she  at  these 
sounds  ;  for  their  hands  trembled  as  the  one 
held  the  paper  and  the  other  the  ink. 

"The  noise  matters  not!"  cried  master 
doctor,  vehiTiuently.  "Sign  the  paper  on 
the  instant,  or  be  adjudged  a  continued  and 
obstinate  herttic,  accursed  in  the  sight  of 
God  and  man  !" 

"  Nay,  but  so  huge  an  nproar  putteth  me 
in  some  fear  of  my  lite,''  added  the  lady, 
with  more  urgency  as  the  ncjise  increased. 
"Mayhap  there  is  mischief  in  it  for  one  or 
all  of  us — the  house  is  on  fire,  or  there  be 
thieves  broke  in  ?  Indeed,  I  know  not  what 
great  evil  it  may  not  be  the  herald  of." 

"  Pish  !"  exclaimed  master  chaplain. 
"  '  Tis  nought  but  the  escort,  impatient  of 
being  kept  so  long  awaiting.  Sign — or, 
without  more  ado,  1  must  oil"  with  }'0u  to  the 
Tower." 

"  indeed,  it  be  but  uncivil  of  them  to  be 
so  soon  impatient,"  cried  she  again;  "for, 
methinks,  they  have  scarce  had  t  me  to  get 
to  the  jralace  gales."  At  this  moment  the 
noise  was  heard  more  distinctly  as  if  it  was 
approaching  nearer,  and  seemed  to  be  the 
hurraing  of  many  voices. 

"  All's  lost !"  exclaimed  master  doctor, 
furiou.-ly  dashing  down  the  ink-horn,  and 
hurrying  himself  out  of  the  chamber;  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  master  chaplain 
snatched  iivvay  the  papers,  and  disappeared 
with  the  like  celerity  :  but,  just  as  the  lady 
El.zibeth  had  got  well  quit  of  them,  a  com- 
pany of  stately  gentlemen  entered  her  cham- 
ber by  another  ooor,  followed  by  a  multitude 
of  meaner  sort,  and,  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  resject,  the  foremost  of  them  all  did 
kneel  bcfi.re  her  on  one  knee. 

"  What  me:.neth  this,  Sir   William  Ce- 


cil ?"  exclaimed  a  lady,  in  exceeding  as- 
tonishment, to  him. 

"  It  mcaneth,  an  it  please  you,  my  gra- 
cious mistress,"  replied  he,  with  much  rev- 
erence, "  that  your  troubles  are  at  an  end. 
Your  sister  hath  been  overtaken  by  the  hand 
of  death,  and  by  all  the  proper  authorities 
your  Highness,  without  opposition  or  let  of 
any  kind,  hath  been  proclaimed  Queen  of 
these  realms." 

"  God  save  Queen  Elizabeth !"  eagerly 
exclaimed  the  assumed  i'ool,  throwing  his 
cap  and  bells,  with  a  monstrous  zeal,  far 
above  his  head ;  and  every  one  of  that  as- 
sembly thereupon,  with  the  same  heartiness, 
joined  in  the  cry. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  THE  LEAN  AND  SLIPPERED  PANTALOON, 

******* 

His  youthful  hose  ivell  saved;  and  his  big 

manly  voice. 
Turning    again    toivards    childish    treble, 

pipes 
And  whistles  in  the  sound. 

Shakspeare. 
Despiteful  Flora!  Is't  not  enough  of  grief, 
That  Cynthia's  robbed,  but  thou  nmst  grace 

the  thief? 
Or  didst  rhou  hear   Night's  sovereign  queen 

complain. 
Hymen  had  stolen  a  nymph  oiU  of  her  tiaiu. 
And  matched  her   here,  plighted  lrenceibi.tli 

to  be 
Love's  friend,  and  stranger  to  virginity. 
And  niak'st  ihuu  sport  lor  this? 

Ben  Jonson. 

There  was  a  cloud  resting  upon  the 
honored  roof-tree  of  New  Place — a  cloud 
that  cast  its  shadows  over  all  Stratford,  and 
even  over  many  a  fair  dwelling  far  beyond  ; 
for  the  master-spirit,  who  was  the  pride  and 
glory  of  all  that  admirable  neighborhood, 
had  for  a  long  period  been  so  nigh  unto 
death's  door,  that  it  had  more  than  once 
been  feared  he  had  crossed  the  gloomy 
threshold. 

Master  Doctor  Hall,  with  no  less  craft  of 
love  than  of  medicine,  had  held  a  desperate 
conflict  with  his  malady,  day  after  day,  and 
week  after  week,  assailing  it  in  so  many 
divers  ways,  as  though  his  resources  were 
out  of  all  number;  and  whenever  it  seemed 
to  be  getting  the  mastery,  bringing  forth 
some  new  sort  of  artillery,  and  some  secret 
stratagem  of  physic,  that  made  his  enemy 
fain  to  give  up  what  ground  of  vantage  he 


2J6 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


liad  grained.  Tlie  skill  of  other  pliysicians 
liiul  boi'ii  required — ^o  ill  looked  tlie  case  ; 
but  tliey  so  api-roved  what  he  had  done,  and 
were  so  favorahly  iin|)re'!-ssd  with  his  mar- 
vellous knowledge  of  all  that  n  Lited  to  tijeir 
art,  ihiit  one  and  all  decided  the  patient 
could  not  be  in  better  luinds,  and  thereujon 
left  lii'ui  to  his  entire  care. 

Of  a  surely,  he  could  not  have  been  bet- 
ter provided  for.  'ilie  youn^r  physiciar! 
acted  a.-;  though  he  had  in  his  power  not  only 
the  existence  of  an  individual,  bi.t  the  fame 
ot  a  nation  ;  nay,  the  very  glory  and  boast 
of  humamind.  Another  could  nut  have  had 
that  stake  in  liis  preservation  he  had  ;  he 
must  iuive  experienced  the  conmion  effects 
of  prolonged  watchfulness,  over-anxiety, 
absence  of  necessary  rest  and  food,  and  c(jn- 
tinual  strain  upon  the  mind  when  taxing 
all  iis  powers  upon  an  issue  that  looked  to 
trciuble  upon  a  hair;  but  he  who  |)rcsided 
over  that  sick  chaiiibtr  appeared  to  ciaim 
immunity  from  the  pains  and  penalties  fol- 
k)wing  a  deviation  trom  natural  habits — he 
lo.-t  all  sense  of  self — moved,  breathed,  lived, 
only  in  tlie  contest  he  was  carrying  on.  He 
watched  every  symptom,  considered  every 
remedy,  traced  every  effect  to  its  cause, 
brougnt  the  experience  of  the  sages  of  his 
craft  to  act  in  alliance  with  the  result  of  his 
own  observations,  and  maintained  what 
seemed  a  hopeless  struggle,  inch  by  inch — 
in  sooth,  not  giving  up  so  much  as  a  hairV 
breadtli  till  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon 
him  that  it  might  be  recovered  at  a  future 
time. 

'rhouuli  amiable  and  gentle  as  a  woman, 
it  was  marvellous  to  note  how  entirely  he  pui 
on  the  despot,  when  his  patient's  s.dety 
seemed  to  demand  it  of  him.  He  wou;d 
have  no  intrusion  into  the  sick-rooin — not 
even  from  the  best  and  dearest  of  his  frienis 
— shutting  his  heart  as  closely  against  the 
pleadings  of  the  fond  Susanna,  save  when 
the  occasion  better  warranted  her  appear- 
ance there,  as  against  the  arguments  of  the 
faithful  Simon,  who  tried  many  a  master- 
stroke of  policy  in  vain  to  plant  himself  with- 
in its  hallowed  walls.  He  would  have  help 
from  none  at  such  times,  save  only  from  an 
ancumt  dame  he  had  hired  as  a  niirs;\ 
whose  watchfulness,  devotion,  and  freedom 
from  weariness,  tliirst,  or  hunger,  rivalled 
liis  own.  She  was  truly  a  mo-l  venerable 
object.  Her  form  looked  much  too  feeble 
for  the  proper  fulfilment  of  the  labor  she 
had  undertaken  ;  but  the  stiange  brilliancy 
of  her  eyes  gave  evidence  of  a  vigorous 
spirit,  such  as  the  most  youthful  i'rame  rare- 
ly possesses.  By  such  attendants  was  the 
8ick  HUin,  during  the  critical  time  li.s  disor- 


der maintained  the  ascendant,  nursed  and 
tended ;  and  in  this  period,  his  loving 
friends  were  fain  to  content  themselves  with 
such  intellisionce  of  his  condition  as  they 
could  by  chance  obtain  from  them,  or  fioin 
some  in  the  house,  who  were  enabled,  at 
rare  intervals,  to  hold  with  them  a  brief 
communication. 

Every  \^h.•re  throughout  the  neighbor- 
hood the  inquiry  was,  '•  How  fareth  Master 
Siiakspetire  ?  ''  and  one  and  all  were  as  in- 
tere.-tt'd  in  him  as  though  he  was  of  their 
tle&lt  and  blood.  Jn  some,  the  knowledge 
of  his  danger  wrought  strange  etf'ects. 
Tommy  Hart  and  his  merry  bedfellow  not 
only  lost  tiiat  ready  pleasantry  which  had 
made  them  a  proverb  throughout  Stratford, 
but  wore  there  features  in  so  sad  a  fashion, 
(h'.Mr  most  familiar  gossips  hardly  knew 
them.  Young  Qiiiney  and  his  wife  had 
taken  up  their  abode  at  New  Place,  and  it 
was  no  small  diliicully  to  say  which  was  the 
most  disconsolate  of  the  two.  Both  Judith 
and  Susanna  were  however  fain  to  repress 
tiieir  own  sorrows  whilst  endeavoring  to 
comfort  their  mother,  whose  grief  touched 
ail  hearts.  , 

Sir  George  Carew  came  frequently  to 
Stratford,  as  though  with  a  view  to  console 
the  fauiily  to  whom  he  was  so  greatly  at- 
tached, but  it  was  easy  to  see  he  needed  con- 
.--olat.on  as  much  as  any.  The  strangest 
eff' cts  Wire  observable  in  Jonas  Tietupe, 
who  grew  as  serious  asaPuritun,  when  he 
first  he  ird  that  Master  Shakspeare  kept  his 
chamber  ;  but  when  it  was  bruited  he  was 
liouily  expected  to  give  up  the  jihost,  he  shut 
iiim.-elf  up  in  his  cottage,  adowing  none  to 
have  sight  or  speech  of  liiin,  and,  as  it  was 
verily  believed,  took  no  heed  of  himself 
whatever. 

But  in  all  conditions,  age  or  sex,  the 
same  spirit  prevailed — for  the  patient  had 
won  all  hearts  ;  the  poor  by  his  charities — 
.he  rich  by  his  excellences — children  by  his 
graciousness — women  by  his  courtesies,  and 
men  of  every  sort  by  his  interest  in  their 
pursuits  and  apparent  knowledge  of  every 
Jiing  that  related  to  them  ;  and  there  was 
scarcely  a  minute  of  the  day  in  which  some 
t'ervent  prayer  was  not  put  up  to  the  thresh- 
old of  th  !  Most  High,  tor  his  restoration  to 
health,  and  to  the  society  of  his  so  numerous 
lovers. 

These  prayi^rs  were  heard,  and  answered. 
As  soon  as  it  became  known,  as  it  shortly 
did,  that  a  change  for  the  better  had  taken 
place  in  the  object  of  their  constant  good 
wislies,  then  was  there  a  change  for  the  l)et- 
ter  ill  ihj  aspjct  of  the  whole  town.  Tom- 
my Halt  took  his  helpmate  by  the  iiand,  and 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


217 


repaired  to  tlie  now  tn-Mrincholy-'ooldn'T 
h;ib  t;ition  of  their  good  oossi|).  the  woman's 
taili  r,  where  they  made  siicli  an  (H'.tcry, 
siioiitiiig-  the  good  new-,  that  presently  the 
door  WHS  thrown  open,  and  out  bounded  the 
rejoicinfT  Jonas  with  a  summerset  that 
pitched  his  friend  on  liis  buciv  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  wiiich  he  not  attending  to,  flew 
down  tlie  street,  to  the  huge  asUmisliment 
of  his  honest  neiglibors,  whirhng  round 
and  r^und,  now  on  liis  hands  and  now  on 
his  feet,  aftT  the  old  fasiiion,  followed  by  a 
pack  of  little  dogs  in  fidl  chase,  evid^nitly, 
by  their  frisking  and  barking,  as  well  pleased 
as  their  master. 

Dr.  il.ill  had  won  a  famous  victory  over 
Death  :  and  it  was  soon  seen  '^'"«'  deadly 
had  heen  the  struggle  betwef  .  .nem.  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  was  reduced  to  a  very  skele- 
ton. The  cf);nmanding  figure  that  had  so 
well  filled  the  justice-chair  could  not  be  re- 
cognised in  the  wasted  iorni  that  leant  on  the 
arm  of  his  physician  as  lie  shufflnl  across 
the  chamber.  His  voice  also  had  under- 
gone a  like  alteration,  it  having  become  fee- 
ble and  s!u-ill  as  that  of  a  man  at  a  great 
age.  The  change  struck  the  sick  man  as 
powerfully  as  it  had  others,  but  a  gleaiu  of 
Ins  customary  facetious  grace  broke  i'rom 
him  at  the  time. 

"  ()"  my  life,  doctor,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
his  ho-e,  that  were  now  much  too  large, 
they  being  in  bags,  as  it  were,  from  his 
knees  to  Jiis  slippers,  "if  I  might  have  my 
v.'ill,  I  woidd  fain  leave  the  world  better 
supported  than  1  am  in  this  sorry  plight." 

"Thou  shalt  have  thy  will,  dear  heart  !" 
e.xclaimed  a  familiar  voice  near  him.  The 
sick  man  turned  round,  bat  saw  only  his  old 
nurse  making  a  posset  for  him.  He  seemed 
to  marvel  a  little,  but  in  a  moment  con- 
tinued to  jest  on  his  condition,  as  he  proceed- 
ed in  his  walk. 

'■  iMethinks  Death  has  spared  me,"  con- 
tinuetl  he  ;  "  because  he  began  to  bo  asham- 
ed of  taking  such  poor  prey,  so,  out  of  pity, 
and,  doubtless,  not  without  .some  contempt, 
he  allows  me  to  find  rest  for  my  bones  on 
the  earth,  instead  of  under  it.  I'fiith,  he 
hath  left  ine  nnich  to  thank  his  worship  for : 
item,  a  voice  as  pleasant  to  hear  as  the  tun- 
ing of  a  viol-de-gamba  ;  item,  a  pair  of 
sticks  by  way  of  legs;  two  of  a  like  pattern 
for  arms;  item,  a  quantity  of  ribs — might 
make  pegs  to  hang  caps  on  at  small  cost ; 
and  item,  a  skull  that  needs  no  polishing  to 
grace  an  anchorite's  cell  for  the  nonce." 

This  pitiful  state  of  things,  however, 
gradually  disappeared,  to  the  huge  conten- 
tation  of  his  friends,  under  careful  i\ursing. 
Among  the  most  powerful  agents  that  min- 


istered to  his  recovery,  was  the  general  de- 
sire to  assist  in  some  v/ay  or  othi.u'  in  mak- 
ing it  as  speedy  as  possible.  With  this 
f .eling,  all  sorts  of  things  were  daily  sent 
that  mig  t  tempt  his  palate,  .or  strengthen 
his  frame,  and  Simon  and  Lannce  had  a 
sutliciency  of  work  in  taking  in  the  delicate 
chickens  and  dainty  capons,  and  exquisite 
sweetbreads,  and  scores  of  other  tempting 
things  that  daily  came  to  the  door  with  the 
kindest  in.jiiiries  and  heartiest  best  wishes  of 
their  several  donors. 

Now,  L  lunce,  of  all  things,  loved  to  liear 
himself  talk,  and,  of  all  subjects,  loved  most 
to  talk  of  himself,  and  rarely  did  he  fail, 
when  he  tljought  he  could  secure  a  listener, 
of  endeavoring  to  impress  upon  him  a  duo 
sense  of  all  the  terrible  dangers  he  had  beea 
in,  and  of  the  wonderful  courage  with 
which  he  had  borne  himself  when  sailing 
with  that  valiant  commanderCaptain  Harry 
Daring  in  the  Spanish  Main.  Had  he  spok- 
en so  bravely  in  Golden  Lane,  he  would 
have  been  soon  silenced  ;  but  Tabitha 
'I'hatchpole's  apprentice  and  Master  Shak- 
speare's  man  were  exceeding  dill'rent  per- 
sonages, and,  therefore,  he  I'ancied  he  might 
readily  become  a  hero  at  Stratford. 

This,  however,  he  found  moro  difficult 
than  he  had  calculated  on,  and  Biagging 
Laimce  became  as  familiar  in  thai  good 
town,  as  Ragged  Launce  had  been  there  in 
tioie.s  past,  or  as  Lazy  Laiuice  had  been  in 
his  well-remembered  attic  in  Golden  Lane. 
It  was  only  when  he  could  get  liold  of  some 
credulous  good  soid,  too  simple  to  doubt, 
that  he  was  ever  listened  to  with  any  sort  of 
patience  or  respect,  and  among  the  bearers 
of  the  ditf'-rent  gifts  thai  came  to  his  mas- 
ter's dwelling  he  found  many  such. 

It  was  rare  to  see  with  what  skill  he  led 
the  inqiiirer  after  the  health  of  Master 
Shakspeare,  with  a  little  loss  of  time  as 
might  be,  right  to  the  deck  of  the  good  ship, 
"  The  Little  Wolf,"  and  this  having  attain- 
ed, how  rapidly  he  led  her  into  the  terri- 
blest  battles,  mutinies,  storms,  and  ship- 
wrecks, in  all  of  which  he  made  himself 
out,  if  not  exactly  the  captain  of  the  ship, 
at  least,  a  person  to  whom  the  command 
might  liave  been  given  with  great  advan- 
tage to  all  concerned.  But,  enough  of  this 
braggart.  Nevertheless,  a  little  more  will 
finish  his  Iiistory.  His  big  words  imposed 
upon  l*eg  of  the  Twiggen  Bottle,  who 
overlooked  his  mean  estate,  in  favor  of  his 
being  a  hero — a  character  she  nuich  affect- 
ed— but  on  the  wedding-night  he  showed 
himself  such  a  craven  to  one  of  her  former 
lovers  who  was  present,  and  made  a  butt  of 
him,  thatshe  drubbed  iiim  in  the  bridal  cham- 


218 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ber  so  that  lie  did  not,  fjcl  himself  comfort- 
able for  a  week  ;ificr. 

Ail  this  time  the  sick  mnn  was  mending 
rapidly,  so  that  he  rccc  ived  visitors  as  usu- 
al, and  the  ciiimney-nook  in  the  hall  was 
again  tl;e  comfoitible  resting-place  of  the 
favored  few,  who  W(?re  wont  to  assemble 
there  ;  an  J  the  jest  and  the  tale  went  round 
as  briskly  as  of  eld.  Sometimes  an  ac- 
quiiintance  or  two  woulJ  join  the  circle 
w  th  news  of  what  strange  tilings  were  do- 
ing in  Loudon  or  elsewhere,  and  often  was 
there  much  to  marvel  at,  often  much  to  la- 
ment, and  almost  as  frequently  much  to 
doubt. 

The  news  least  liked  and  most  talked  of 
was  the  mysterious  death  of  that  darling  of 
the  nation,  Prince  Henry.  Various  were 
the  rumors  afloat  concerning  the  cause  of 
this  sudden  and  fatal  sickness  ;  some  talk- 
ed conlidently  of  poison  ;  and  the  bolder 
sort  plainly  alluded  to  the  king  as  having 
been  jealous  of  the  general  favor  in  which 
his  admirable  young  son  was  held  by  the 
people;  and,  if  not  instigating,  certainly 
having  a  guilty  knowledge  of  the  deed.  But 
these  horrible  surmises  were  not  canvassed 
at  New  Place.  Master  Shakspeare  was 
deeply  moved  at  learning  of  so  truly  nation- 
al a  loss.  He  knew  it  to  be  a  loss  never  to 
be  r.' paired. 

He  had  news  also  of  more  than  one 
friend,  for  whom  he  cherished  the  liveliest 
remembrances.  There  were  divers  his  good 
gossips  and  fellows  at  the  globe,  of  whom 
and  from  whom  he  had  occasional  intelli- 
gence. Of  worthy  Master  Allen,  too, 
still  the  most  thriving  of  players,  and  the 
most  honest  of  men,  where  among  his  bears, 
or  his  nobler  animals,  he  had  especial  ad- 
vices. And  a  like  sort  of  familiar  know- 
lege  he  had  of  the  city  came  to  him  from 
the  court,  where  he  was  well  pleased  to 
hear  his  much-loved  scholar,  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  was  rapidly  advancing  into  fa- 
vor. But  there  was  one  to  whom  his  best 
feelings  clung  with  the  like  fixedness  the 
devotee  regards  the  emblem  of  his  faith,  and 
never  did  a  thought  rise  in  that  direction 
that  was  not  made  yokefellow  with  a  bless- 
ing. Need  it  be  said  that  this  was  the  no- 
ble lady,  from  whom  he  had  separated  him- 
self so  completely — as  it  seemed — yet  with 
whom,  v\hile  he  lived,  he  would  be  joined 
in  ro  common  bonds. 

It  was  while  gradually  recovering  his 
health  that  he  became  aware  of  the  attach- 
ment existing  betwixt  his  admirable  young 
physician  and  his  most  estimable  gentle 
daughter.  At  this  he  was  especially  [)leas- 
ed.     There  was  no  man  living  he  should 


so  soon  have  wished  for  a  son.  He  felt  he 
owed  him  no  trifling  amount  of  obligation, 
in  the  first  place  for  the  excessive  devotion 
he  had  shown  for  him  during  more  than 
one  critical  period  of  his  lite;  and  in  the 
next  his  high  talents  in  art  and  his  thorough 
amiableness  of  disposition  pointed  him  out 
as  likely  to  make  happy  his  exctllent  Su- 
sanna. He  was  rarely  pleased  that  they 
should  have  come  to  so  good  an  understand- 
ing— albeit  he  more  than  once  formd  him- 
self comparing  in  some  astonishment  the 
stately  creature  that  had  no  long  time  be- 
fore received  so  comilacently  the  adulation 
of  the  gayest  and  noblest  of  the  gayest 
court  in  Europe,  with  the  quiet  blushing 
maid  fixing  her  heart  and  mind  upon  the 
thoughtful  aspect  and  unassuming  bearing 
of  the  young  physician. 

All  this  time  these  two  were  enjoying  a 
species  of  happiness  peculiarly  their  own. 
It  looked  as  though  the  deep  trouble  they 
had  endured  had  given  them  a  keener  rel- 
ish tor  the  exquisite  rare  pleasure  that 
seemed  in  store  for  them.  Quiet,  grave 
and  unimpassioned,  as  both  had  ap[,eared, 
they  entered  into  the  condition  of  lovers 
with  a  depth  and  intensity  of  feeling  less 
ex|)erienced  hearts  could  have  no  know- 
ledge of.  Each  seemed  to  have  dispersed 
from  around  the  other  the  cloud  which 
had  thrown  into  blackest  shadow  all 
the  fairest  hopes  and  dreams  of  life.  And, 
with  a  delicate  sympathy  in  the  other's  past 
sufferings,  each  strove  to  show  a  brimming 
measure  of  that  felicity  they  had  previously 
looked  for  in  vain. 

Whilst  his  patient  demanded  his  utmost 
vigilance,  Dr.  Hall  would  be  nothing  but 
the  attentive  physician  ;  but,  when  it  be- 
came evident  he  might  be  left  to  the  care  of 
others,  he  put  on  the  devoted  lover  with  no 
less  singleness  of  purpose.  Many  were  the 
pleasant  walks  he  and  his  fair  mistress  had 
through  the  shady  lanes,  or  the  fields  of 
waving  corn,  and  long  and  earnest  the  dis- 
course which  then  and  there  passed  betwixt 
them.  Now  came  the  reign  of  arms  inter- 
linked, clasped  hands,  and  waists  encircled, 
low-breathtnl  aspirations,  blushing  replies, 
an  over-brimming  joyou.-^ness  in  the  present, 
and  daintily  conceited  plans  for  the  future. 
For  our  young  physician  this  period 
brought  a  harvest  of  sweet  thoughts,  of 
such  abundance  withal,  he  who  reaped  it 
could  scarce  conceal  his  astonishment  at 
its  excess.  It  looked  as  though  the  goodly 
qualities  of  the  soil,  during  the  time  their 
development  had  been  checked,  had  been 
accimiulating,  and  now  thru.';t  themselves 
forth  in  produce  of  the  rarest   excellence 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


219 


and  the  most  man-elloiis  abundance.  His 
mind,  purified  in  the  furnace  in  which  it 
had  been  cast,  seeuied  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  ail  the  subduing  impressions  of  the  affec- 
tions. It  was  no  longer  the  feverish 
dreams  of  youth,  prematurely  created  by  the 
villanous  artirices  of  a  scheming  adventu- 
ress ;  it  was  the  natural  operation  of  the 
most  admiralile  grace,  and  tlie  most  perfect 
excellence,  on  a  nature  pecuharly  disposed 
to  cultivate  their  exquisite  influence.  It 
was  an  intelligent  mind  strongly  reflected 
upon  by  mind  of  a  like  sagacity,  and  one 
heart  operating  upon  another,  the  feelings 
whereof  were  of  the  same  ennobhng  nature. 

When  he  considered  his  good  fortune  in 
attaching  to  himself  a  creature  so  excel- 
lently gifted,  the  miseries  of  former  years 
faded  as  a  snow-flake  in  the  sunbeam.  Un- 
der her  fair  sovereignty,  he  felt  raised  to 
the  proudest  estimation  ;  his  reserve  did  not 
entirely  leave  him  ;  he  vvas  still  grave,  re- 
flective, an!  retiring — but  this  was  consti- 
tutional. There  wure  times  however  wlien, 
led  along  by  the  stirring  spirit  of  her  covet- 
able  society,  he  seemed  to  break  down  all 
the  restraints  of  habit,  and  his  voice  became 
animated  by  the  eloquence  of  his  own 
thoughts;  he  spoke,  looked,  and  moved,  as 
a  being  gifted  with  all  the  flner  prop^Tties 
of  manaooi — m  mhood  in  its  worth,  its 
grace,  its  nobleness,  and  its  purity. 

And  our  gentle  Susanna,  was  she  not 
moved  by  a  similar  agency  ?  Did  not  th^ 
bread  of  tier  kindly  heart  she  had  cast  up- 
on the  waters,  return  to  her  after  many 
days  ?  Did  not  her  mind,  so  long  thrust  in- 
to shadow,  beam  out  as  a  cynosure  in  tiie 
deep  night,  making  her  fair  neiuhborhood 
an  atmosphere  of  light  and  beaity  ?  To 
this  no  more  need  be  said  than  that  she 
was  absolutely  and  perfectly  happy  ;  happy 
in  her  own  tho.iiihts,  and  in  tae  tlioughtsof 
those  nearest  and  dearest  to  her  ;  happy  in 
her  choice,  haj)py  in  her  hopes,  happy  in 
her  dreams,  happy  in  the  present,  and  ex- 
quisitely happy  in  the  future.  Day  after 
day  passed  by,  and,  the  more  intimately 
she  becaaie  acquainted  with  the  virtues  of 
the  man  whose  flner  qualities  she  had  per- 
ceived and  done  justice  to  in  her  earliest 
acquaintance  with  him,  the  more  did  she 
congratulate  herself  on  finding,  whatever 
storm  might  come,  she  had  so  famous  an 
anchor  to  trust  to. 

Thus  tiiis  estimable  pair,  in  the  days  of 
their  honeyed  courtship,  seemed  to  live  in 
and  for  o  ich  other ;  their  rambles  became 
longer,  their  attachment  to  each  other's  so- 
ciety more  intense.  Their  senses  seemed 
to  beco.ne  more  exquisitely  alive  to  the  at- 


tractions of  external  nature.  The  flowers, 
the  sunshine,  the  shady  lane,  the  green  re- 
treat, the  intelligent  aspect  of  the  mute 
stars,  and  the  murmuring  music  of  the  gen- 
tle river,  w'ere  to  tliem  features  of  a  land- 
scape of  such  ravishing  beauty,  that  its  on- 
ly type  could  have  been  fousid  in  that  un- 
rivalled landscape  in  wliich  the  first  lovers 
experienced  a  happiness  direct  from  Hea- 
ven. 

It  shortly  became  publicly  known  that 
they  were  betrothed — in  sooih,  some  who 
pretended  to  be  better  informed  than  their 
njighbor.-,  went  so  far  as  to  say  they 
knew  the  very  day  they  were  to  be  mar- 
ried ;  but  it  was  every  where  understood 
that,  in  a  short  time,  tliere  would  be  a  fam- 
ous wedding,  and  they  were  so  well  liked 
that  no  allusion  was  ever  made  to  the 
match  without  its  being  l'ollowe<i  by  a  bless- 
ing. In  honest  truth,  the  approaching 
event  was  so  universally  known,  and  the 
persons  so  intimately  connected  with  it  so 
greatly  respected,  that  did  any  of  th(nr  well- 
wishers  get  sight  of  the  hippy  pair  in  one 
of  their  rambles,  he  would  make  a  circuit 
so  as  to  avoid  disturbing  their  privacy. 

The  ceremony  so  much  talked  of  awaited 
only  the  complete  recovery  of  Master 
Sliakspeare  ;  but  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
bring  it  about.  For  this  thjre  were 
divers  reasons — first,  he  saw  that  they 
were  happy,  and  much  of  his  happine-s  de- 
pending ou  seeing  theirs,  he  was  desirous 
this  golden  state  of  things  should  continue 
as  long  as  possible.  Next,  he  liked  not 
parting  with  them;  they  had  become, 
through  the  influence  of  their  own  virtues, 
the  chief  objects  of  his  regard,  and  he  could 
not  readily  bring  himself  to  loos3  either. 
The  matter  was  ultimately  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  parties,  they  agreeing  to 
remain  under  his  roof  as  long  as  might  be 
agreeable  to  him. 

He  frequently  held  long  and  interesting 
consultations  with  his  fast  friend,  Sir 
George  Carew,  who  took  a  warui  interest 
in  their  expected  nuptials  ;  and  there  could 
be  no  manner  of  doubt  he  intended  perform- 
ing some  liberal  act  of  kindness  ;  doing 
something  for  his  fair  favorite  on  this  par- 
ticular occasion. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  who  re- 
garded the  approaching  union  vvith  ill-con- 
cealed ill  feeling — this  vvas  no  other  than 
Sir  Hugh  Clopion,  by  this  time  transformed 
into  a  court-gallant  of  the  first  prct.nsions. 
Possibly  the  praise  of  the  gentle  Susanna, 
so  (requently  heard  from  liis  guardian.  Sir 
George  Carew,  influenced  him  but  lidle — 
I  poisibly  the  interest  shown  by  all  the  com- 


220 


THE  SECRET  PAS>S10N. 


muiiity  in  her  happiness  he  regarded  with 
a  like  indiltc'renc-y  ;  but  he  liUud  not  tliat 
some  one  Siiould  coine  and  hrar  away  from 
him  wliat  he  seemed  to  think  could  easily 
have  been  his  own.  He  held  loiiji'  and  se- 
rious dfbutcs  witli  liimself  as  to  the  line  of 
conduct  he  should  pursue,  and  ultimately 
he  came  to  the  wise  determination  of  hon- 
oring the  subjt'ct  of  his  thoughts  with  a 
visit. 

Takinp-  marvellous  pains  tliat  every  ar- 
ticle of  las  toilet  should  be  impressed  into 
his  servile  in  some  such  a  manner  as  to 
assist  in  producing  the  desired  imj;ression, 
and,  alter  carefully  examining  the  result, 
and,  sat. sl'ying  himself  that  tiicre  could  be 
no  doubt  of  his  pirH'ct  success  in  the  ex- 
periment lie  was  about  to  make,  he  ordered 
his  horse,  and  look  the  road  from  Clopton 
to  Stratford.  When  he  arrived  at  New  j 
Place,  Susanna  was  in  attendance  upon  i 
her  father  in  liis  chamber.  She  did  net 
hear  the  name  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  with- 
out some  emotion  ;  but  it  passed  away  as 
rapidly  as  it  went,  and  the  expression  by 
which  it  was  lollowed  was  of  a  much  le.-s 
pleasant  ciiaracter. 

"  Speed  thee,  wench!"  cried  her  father 
merrily,  "  tSir  Hugh  asketh  for  thee. 
Doubtless  he  is  come  to  offer  his  congratu- 
lations, like  a  couneous  gentleman.  Hie 
thee  to  the  bliie-rooui,  then,  at  once,  and 
jirytliee  use  hi.n  in  thy  inost  gracious  fash- 
ion." 

Susanna  made  a  most  gracious  reply  in 
the  same  spirit  as  she  tri()ped  out  of  tlip 
chambjr,  b.it  she  was  far  iro  n  being  indif- 
ferent as  she  seemed.  She  would  have 
avoided  the  interview,  had  it  been  possible, 
without  creatinsir  comment,  but  she  nerved 
herself  with  a  woman's  proudest  spirit  to 
appear  in  it  as  became  her  hither's  daugh- 
ter. On  her  entrance,  she  found  the  young 
knigbt,  ex  imining,  with  much  intentness, 
as  it  seemed,  the  pattern  of  the  siege  of 
Troy  on  the  arras — albeit,  he  was  giving 
his  entire  thoughts  to  the  consideration  of 
what  he  should  say,  and  how  he  should 
say  the  business  he  had  come  upon. 

"  God  save  you,  Sir  Hugh  !"  exclaimed 
the  damsel  courteously.  '•  My  father  bids 
me  express  his  acknowh  dgments  for  the 
honor  you  have  done  him  in  visiting  his 
poor  dwelling.  He  trusts  all  are  well  at 
Ch)pton." 

'I'here  was  a  dignity  as  well  as  an  indif- 
ferency  in  this  t^^peech  that  was  far  from 
setting  tlie  young  knigbt  at  his  ease.  He 
replied  in  th  ■  be-t  courtier  fishion,  touch- 
ing his  pr(jfouiid  respect  for  Master  Shak- 
speare,   and   gave   his   assurance   that  at 


I  Clopton  every  one  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  m  excellent  health.  Heieujion  he  en- 
deavored to  get  a  point  towards  bis  errand, 
j  but  he  was  stopped  by  an  earnest  inquiry 
of  his  kinsfolk.  Having  inloriiied  his  cuin- 
pHuion  that  Sir  George  Carew  and  his  es- 
timable lady  were  gone  to  Kenilworth,  he 
once  more  strove  to  bring  tlie  di>course  to- 
wards liim.self  and  his  intentions ;  but,  at 
his  hrst  step,  he  was  interrupted  liy  a  string 
of  questions  as  to  divers  persons  and  scenes 
in  and  about  the  neighborhood  of  the 
family  mansion ;  and,  as  soon  as  these 
were  roj  lied  to,  there  came  a  long  cate- 
chism respecting  his  ancestors,  their  char- 
acter and  monuments.  Thus  it  continued 
for  a  period  much  beyond  what  was  given 
to  a  visit  of  compliment. 

Sir  Hugh  Clopton  was  getting  more  and 
more  discomposed.  He  was  wondiously 
anxious  to  address  himselt  at  once  to  the 
object  he  had  in  hand,  but  he  knew  not  how 
to  commence  such  a  business.  He  felt  a 
strnnge  av\kwardness  in  the  first  step, 
which  seemed  to  throw  a  terrible  stumbling- 
block  in  his  way;  and,  when  he  called  to 
mind  liow  studiously  of  late  she  had  avoid- 
ed him,  and  that,  when  thrown  in  his  com- 
pany, with  what  ceremonious  resi.ect  .-he 
liad  behaved  herself  towartis  him,  his  chance 
of  a  favorable  hearing  appeared  to  become 
more  desperate  every  minute.  The  fair 
Susanna  all  tliis  while  looked  as  though 
she  had  met  this  monstrous  tine  gentleman 
for  the  first  time,  to  whom  she  accorded 
the  graceful  courtesy  of  a  genllewoiiian, 
out  of  respect  for  his  excellent  worlhy  kins- 
man, her  sworn  servant,  Sir  George  Carew. 

"Perchance,  you  are  off  to  some  hunting 
party  or  another  ?"  said  she.  at  last,  "  and  1 
am,  out  of  all  doubt,  much  to  blame  for 
keeping  you  from  such  delectuble  sport;  so 
I  will  at  once  take  my  leave  of  you,  thank- 
ing you,  in  the  name  of  my  most  dear  father, 
for  your  courteous  visit." 

"  Nay,  I  pray  you,  Mi.stress  Susanna, 
leave  me  not  in  this  way  !"  exclaimed  the 
young  knight,  the  hue  gentleman  evidently 
breaking  down  under  a  pressure  of  natural 
feelings.  "  1  have  much  to  say  to  you  ! — I 
have  much  to  implore  of  you !  In  an  evil 
hour ' 

'•  Ah  !  [  had  neiirly  forgotten,"  said  she, 
suddenly  stopping  in  the  slight  advance  she 
had  made  towards  the  door.  H(^r  aspect 
became  a  slight  degree  more  serious,  yet 
there  was  no  sign  in  it  of  anger  or  triinuph. 
"  1  have  also  something  that  ought  to  he 
said,  it  cannot  but  be  known  t'l  you.  Sir 
Hugh,  that  it  is  my  estimable  fither's  j)lea- 
sure  I  should  be  married  next  St.  Georjre's 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


221 


day  to  a  worthy  gentleman,  his  friand,  one 
Master  Doctor  Hall ;  a  physician  of  much 
siiill  ill  his  art,  and  of  as  iiouorable  a  niture 
as  man  ever  possessed.  I  trust,  Sir  Hugh, 
you  wid  do  us  the  honor  to  grace  tliat  occa- 
sion with  your  company.  Among  your 
well-wishers,  Sir  Hugh,  ever  count  on  my- 
self as  belonging  to  tha  sincerest.  Be  as- 
sured th  it  I  entjitain  a  firm  hope  that  you 
wi  1  speedily  cast  aside  as  weeds  that  ill-be- 
come a  soil  of  much  natural  goodness,  the 
follies  of  a  thoughtless  youth  ;  and  if  I  could 
see  you  diveste<d  of  every  such  unworthi- 
ness,  securing  yourself  the  respect  which 
hath  ever  b^en  so  intimately  attached  to 
your  honorable  name,  and  united  with  some 
noble  lady  who  would  do  credit  to  your 
judgment,  believe  me,  Sir  Hugh,  it  would 
be  such  inlinite  satisfaction  to  me  as  my 
poor  words  cnunot  express.  Fare  you  weil. 
Sir  H  ugh,  and  much  happiness  attend  you  !" 

Methinks  it  need  hardly  be  said  that,  by 
such  a  speech  so  delivered,  "  the  monstrous 
fine  gentleman"  was  completely  silenced: 
and  before  he  could  recover  from  the  stun- 
ning blow,  that  gentle  and  graceful  rebuke 
gave  to  his  vanity,  he  found  his  fair  compa- 
nion had  lett  the  chamber.  He  was  not 
long  in  doing  the  same,  but  as  he  rode  back 
to  Clopton  he  thought  over  every  word  of 
those  golden  sentences  he  had  just  heard, 
and  in  so  proper  a  mood,  that  from  that  time 
forth  he  became  so  swayed  by  their  spirit  as 
to  cast  from  him  all  discreditable  tendencies 
and  foolish  humors,  and  take  upon  himself 
the  nobler  characteristics  of  an  honorable 
gentleman. 

Now  that  it  had  become  well  known 
throughout  Stratford  and  its  neighborh.ood, 
Mistress  Susanna  Shakspeare  was  to  be 
married  at  such  a  date  to  that  famous  phy- 
sician., Master  Doctor  Hall,  there  was  a 
wonderful  deal  of  rejoicing  in  all  quarters. 
Of  all  places  in  the  world,  be  sure  the  mat- 
ter was  properly  discussed  in  Tommy  Hart's 
kitchen — in  south,  there  had  been  divers 
consultations  on  this  particular  subject,  in 
which,  besides  Tommy  and  his  helpmate, 
Jonas  Tietape  and  young  Quiney  labored 
wit'i  exceeding  earnestness. 

They  sometimes  obtained  the  assistance 
of  vSimon  Stockfish,  who  seemed  as  though 
capable  of  speaking  on  no  other  points  than 
the  nobleness  of  the  master  he  now  possess- 
ed, and  the  v/orthiness  of  the  one  he  had 
once  served.  It  used,  however,  to  take  him 
a  monstrous  time  to  make  up  his  mind  to 
place  himself  where  so  many  questions  were 
sure  to  be  put  to  him  ;  but  having  satisfied 
himself  tliat  it  would  be  politic  not  to  answer 
correctly  more  tlian  one  in  ten,  he  occasion- 


1  ally  made  his  appearance  in  the  hatter's 
1  chimney-corner. 

Concerning  the  marriage,  they  were  all 
agreed  thit  it  was  what  was  most  to  be  de- 
sired ;  for  both  the  young  phy.-ician  and  his 
fair  mistress  were  sucu  especial  favorites, 
that  nothing  could  seem  so  appropriate  as 
their  union;  but  this  auspicious  event  they 
seemed  called  upon  to  di  tinguisn  in  some 
remarkable  manner,  and  they  considered 
long  and  earnestly  amongst  themselves  how 
this  was  to  be  done. 

When  Jonas  Tietape  could  be  drawn 
from  his  vagaries,  he  was  lorccd  to  give  in 
his  opinion  to  the  common  stock,  which  he 
did  after  his  fashion,  whereupon  inucli  de- 
bating followed,  of  which  the  object  was  to 
mark  the  day  appointed  for  the  wedding 
with  appropriate  revels.  Every  pleasant 
pastime  was  learnedly  discussed,  and  the 
best  ways  of  having  them  with  due  efFoct 
set  forth  in  the  goodaest  manner  possible. 

As  the  appointed  day  approached  the 
ever-honored  tir^-t  of  May  so  closely,  it  was 
at  last  decided  that  May  Games  should  be 
performed  with  all  due  solemnity — unusual 
care  being  taken  that  every  ciiaracter  there- 
in should  rind  the  very  fittest  representative 
— besides  which,  provision  shoiJd  be  made 
for  minstrelsy;  the  resources  of  the  town 
consisting  only  of  one  bagpipe,  a  blind 
harper,  and  a  lame  fiddler,  it  was  resolved 
that  the  neighboring  villages  and  towns 
should  be  called  upun  to  assist  with  whate- 
ver of  a  musical  sort  they  had  at  their  com- 
mandment. As  llie  decisions  of  this  coun- 
cil, though  net  expressed  with  so  much  dig- 
nity as  those  of  the  High  Bailiff  and  hi,  co- 
adjutors, were  scarcely  less  influential, 
there  could  he  no  fear  that  the  eventful  day 
would  pass  by  unnoticed. 

Scarce  had  the  sun  rose  on  the  memora- 
ble morning  of  the  twenty-third  of  April, 
when  the  bells  began  a  nitrry  peal,  which 
called  up  all  who  were  not  getting  them- 
selves ready  to  play  their  part  in  the  day's 
revels.  In  every  part  of  merry  Stratford — • 
and  well  did  it  deserve  that  name — there 
was  rare  bustling  about,  and  running  hither 
and  thither,  and  such  a  prodigality  of  jests 
expended  as  might  have  sulhced  the  small 
wits  of  the  court  from  then  till  doomsday  ; 
and  yet  have  had  abundance  to  spare. 

The  first  commencement  of  the  day's 
sports  was  seen  in  the  bringing  in  of  the 
tall  tree  that  had  been  cut  down  for  a  May- 
pole, and  the  setting  it  up  in  a  fair,  open 
space,  where  its  fine  colors  and  finer  gar- 
lands and  streamers  could  be  seen  to  some 
advantage.  Rare  was  the  display  of  rib- 
bons  and  other  finery  in   the  youths  and 


222 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


maidens  who  assisted  in  the  dance  round  the 
lofty  maypole,  that  followed  its  first  pJant- 
ino-,  but  tiieir  univers.il  mirth  and  well-dis- 
poserines.s  luado  them  still  more  attractive. 

It  was  while  this  pleasant  sport  was  going 
on  in  lull  force,  that  those  whom  it  mo.-t 
concerned  were  preparing  for  the  grand 
proceedings  of  the  day.  With  no  slight  sa- 
tisfaction tli'7  hailed  the  arrival  of  the  hour 
that  was  to  realise  their  most  cherished 
wishes.  In  especial,  the  feelings  of  Master 
Shakspeare  were  of  the  most  intense  grati- 
fication. He  liad  long  studied  the  character 
of  his  young  friend,  and  had  perceived  in 
him,  under  liis  manifold  coverings  of  shy- 
ness and  reserve,  a  nature  replete  witii  ho- 
norable feelings,  virtuous  resolves,  and 
manly  sentiments.  He  saw  it  was  scarce 
possible  for  him  to  find  any  man  to  whom 
he  could  coniide  his  excellent  Susanna,  with 
so  perJ'ect  a  confidence  in  her  future  hapi)i- 
ness.  Nothing  delighted  him  so  much  as 
the  evidences  he  had  met  with  of  their  at- 
tachment to  each  other,  and  so  great  was 
his  content  in  their  marriage,  that  it  is  not 
going  too  fir  to  affirm  that  on  this  particu- 
lar morning  he  was  infinitely  the  most  plea- 
sant-humored of  the  three.  Though  it  could 
scarcely  be  said  he  had  recovered  his  wonted 
strength  and  appearance,  he  was  sufficient- 
ly full  of  iiealtii  and  spirits  to  enjoy  himself 
as  absolutely  as  man  could  on  so  choice  an 
occasion. 

As  for  the  happy  lovers,  sedate  tliough 
they  looked,  and,  as  some  thought,  more 
grave  than  such  a  time  warranted,  they  had 
as  full  Ik  arts  as  they  couid  well  liave,  and 
minds  brimming  with  the  same  overflowing 
measure.  In  brief,  they  were  as  absolutely 
happy  as  pogr  humanity  hath  any  chance 
to  be.  Perhaps  they  had  tlie  more  enjoy- 
ment from  having  known  feelings  of  so 
very  op[)osite  a  sort.  They  took  tlieir  places 
in  the  procession,  and  performed  their  parts 
in  the  cerensony,  that  joined  their  destinies 
together  mdissolubly,  with  a  total  abandon- 
ment of  all  things  whatsoever  but  their  own 
infinite  contentation. 

They  became  spectators  of  the  pleasant 
labors  of  their  numerous  friends,  to  do  honor 
to  the  day  graced  by  an  event  so  welcome 
to  them,  with  senses  too  much  engrossed  by 
theirown  happiness  to  be  as  mindful  of  them 
as  they  deserved.  But  this  was  unobserved 
by  the  principal  actors  therein,  who  were  in 
such  famous  good  humor  with  their  elforts, 
they  sei  nied  as  though  celebriting  their 
own  particular  happiness,  rather  than  the 
happiness  of  the  two  young  persons  who 
could  iiiirdly  be  regarded  as  belonging  to 
their  circle. 


On  this  memorable  day  it  was  well  said 
of  many  that  never  had  Jonas  Tietapc  made 
so  worshipful  a  drag  n  ;  nor  Tommy  Hart 
rode  so  capering  a  hobby  horse  ;  never 
had  young  Quiney  played  so  right  reverend 
a  Friar  Tuck  ;  nor  the  young  miller  ap- 
peared to  such  rare  advantage  as  Robin 
Hood  ;  nor  was  there  ever  so  choice  a  mor- 
rice;  in  brief,  it  was  well  said  of  the  wiser 
sort,  that  there  had  not  been  in  the  remem- 
brance of  any  Stratford  man  a  day  of  such 
entire  pleasantness  as  that  which  had  been 
appointed  for  the  marriage  of  Master  Doctor 
Hall  and  Mistress  Susanna  Shakspeare. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

That  blast  that  nijjjicd  thy  youth  will  ruin 

thee ; 
That  hand  that  shook  the  branch  will  quickly 

strike  the  tree. 

QUARLES. 

Egyptians,  dare  ye  think  yotir  highest  pyra- 
mids, 
Built  to  out-dare  the  sun,  as  you  suppose. 
Where  your  luiworthy  kings  lie  raked  in  ashes, 
Are  monuments  fit  lor  Inni  ?     No,  brood  of 

Mylus, 
Nothing  can  cover  his  high  fame  but  Heaven, 
No  pyramids  set  otf  his  memories. 
But  the  eternal  substance  of  his  greatness, 
To  wliich  I  leave  him. 

BkAUMONT  and  FLETCHEn. 

"  Nay,  as  I  live  !  By  all  that's  rare,  'tis 
Ben  himself!"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 
peare, with  as  huge  astonishment  as  plea- 
sure, as  about  a  year  after  the  events  men- 
tioned in  the  last  chapter,  Simon  Stockfish 
ushered  into  his  book-room  one  on  whom 
he  had  exerted  much  exquisite  policy,  in 
vain,  to  discover  who  the  stout,  biuti"  free- 
spoken  stranger  was,  or  what  his  business. 

"  r  faith,  if  it  be  not  the  great  Ben  him- 
self," replied  the  other  joyously,  "  'tis  so 
fine  a  copy,  it  may  pass  for  the  original 
among  the  best  judges." 

The  stranger  was  no  other  than  Benja- 
min Jonson,  of  whom  the  understanding 
reader  hath  already  some  acquaintance.  He 
was  looking  more  like  a  hearty  yeoman 
than  a  London  playwright,  having  under  his 
belt  a  waist  of  no  ordinary  breadth  ;  but  the 
excess  of  revenue  necessary  for  its  sub?is- 
tence  seemed  to  have  kept  the  outer  cover- 
ings of  his  person  of  less  richness  than  he 
might  have  aimed  at. 

He  had  had  a  longjourney,  out  of  all  doubt, 
and  possibly  he  had  clad  himself  more 
roughly  than  was  usual  with  him  ;  but  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


223 


whatever  fashion  he  was  clad,  he  received 
a  most  warm  anJ  absoiuti  welcome.  Ha 
was  soon  made  to  feel  liimself  at  liome ;  a 
state  of  fueling  by  the  way,  in  which  he 
could  enter  with  even  much  loss  encourage- 
ment than  he  now  received.  His  friend 
played  the  host  towards  him  with  equal 
kindnes?  and  courte-y,  partly  because,  pat- 
ting some  faults  out  of  sight,  he  liked  his 
society  and  admired  his  talents,  and  in  a 
great  measure  because  his  arrival  seemed 
to  proinise  news  of  many  of  liis  friends  of 
whom  he  had  been  a  considerable  time  with- 
out intelligence. 

A  substantial  meal,  the  principal  feature 
of  which  was  a  goodly  sirloin,  was  placed 
before  him  on  the  very  whitest  napery, 
flanked  with  a  richly  chased  silver  tankard 
containing  excellent  Canary.  Ben  care- 
fully tucked  a  napkin  within  his  falling 
bands,  and  began  an  attack  on  the  viands 
with  all  the  vigor  of  an  old  campaigner. 
Master  Shakspeare  sat  at  a  little  distance 
from  him.  in  no  small  measure  pleased  at  the 
evident  enjoyment  his  I'riend  took  in  his 
labor ;  occisionall\^  rising  to  place  at  his 
commandaient  something  he  thought  would 
add  to  his  satisfaction,  or  laughing  at  the 
jests  in  which  his  guest  indulged,  w.tli  a 
heartiness  that  shewed  how  completely  he 
understood  and  appreciated  their  liumor, 
and  when  an  occasion  served,  relating  one 
from  hiS  own  prodigal  resources  that  so  di- 
verted the  hungry  traveller,  that  he  was 
nigh  being  choked  in  the  excess  of  his 
miith. 

The  satisfaction  of  these  two  old  friends 
in  meeting  alter  so  long  a  separation  was 
of  the  very  heartiest  sort.  Anecdotes  fol- 
lowed on  the  heels  of  each  other  ;  and  jest 
succ39ded  jest  with  a  prodigality  that  was 
truly  marvellous.  Some  remark  on  a  play 
would  bring  forth  an  account  of  some 
player,  that  both  had  known — and  then 
came  a  goodly  history  of  all  the  ups  and 
downs,  the  whims  and  vagaries,  the  strange 
sayings,  the  odd  ways,  the  singular  ideas, 
the  wild  adventures  of  divers  of  their  ac- 
quaintance, connected  in  some  way  or  other 
with  the  stage.  In  a  little  while,  the  men- 
tion of  something  done  at  court  would  pro- 
duce a  whole  chapter  of  amusing  gossip, 
respecting  the  different  personages  therein 
to  be  found.  It  was  as  good  as  a  gallery, 
they  ware  so  hit  off  to  the  very  life  ;  for  if 
one  was  at  a  loss  for  any  part  of  the  picture, 
it  was  sure  to  be  happily  tinished  from  the  ' 
experience  of  the  other. 

"  And  so  Raleigh  is  still  a  prisoner,"  ob-  \ 
served  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  More  shame  to  those  who  made  him  i 


one!"  was  the  inflignant  reply.  "'Sdeath! 
my  blood  boils,  when  I  think  of  this  noble 
gentleman,  cooped  up  in  stone  walls  to  gra- 
tify the  mean  revenge  of  that  poor  Scotch 
animal,  who  hates  this  noble  gentleman  for 
towering  so  high  above  him.  Nevertheless 
as  J  can  fully  testify,  he  keepeth  up  his 
great  spirit.  1  managed  to  get  admission 
to  him  in  the  Tower,  and  there  I  paid  him 
a  visit,  which  I  shall  not  very  readily  forget. 
Never  saw  1  a  man  so  truly  a  philosopher, 
or  one  while  possessed  of  such  a  high  Ro- 
man soul,  with  such  store  of  learning  at  his 
commandment,  as  was  only  owned  by  the 
most  famous  worthies  of  Greece." 

"  You  saw  him  then;  how  fareth  he  in 
this  imprisonment?" 

"  Only  so  far  the  worse,  as  the  blade  left 
to  rust  in  the  scabbard.  There  was  with 
him  a  marvellous  deep  and  learned  man, 
my  Lord  of  Northumberland,  with  whom  he 
pursueth  all  manner  of  strange  studies  in 
chemistry  ;  my  assured  friend.  Master  Ser- 
geant Hoskins,  an  excellent,  poet,  'I'homas 
Harlot,  an  estimable  philosopher,  ai'd  a  cer- 
tain parson,  Mastjr  Doctor  Burrell,  a  most 
ripe  scholar  ;  and  amongst  these,  I  had  such 
discousse,  as  1  could  have  found,  methinks, 
in  no  other  place  in  the  whole  world.  Such 
famous  speeches,  worthy  to  be  called  ora- 
tions ;  such  protonnd  knowledge ;  such 
deep  and  comprehe-nsive  learning ;  such 
marvellous  wisdom,  it  hath  never  been  my 
lot  to  listen  to.  VVe  had,  as  well  as  the 
Greek  and  Roman,  fragments  of  Hebrew 
sages,  and  snatches  of  the  lore  of  Arabian 
poets  and  philosophers,  that  made  the  wis- 
dom of  the  western  world  appear  as  very 
foolishness." 

"  Of  a  truth,  I  envy  you  that  visit — me- 
thinks 'twas  as  rare  a  treat  as  man  could 
wish  for." 

"  Ay,  was  it.  Will.  But  there  was  one 
bitter  reflection  that  robbed  it  of  the  better 
part  of  its  sweetness.  Who  could  think 
unmoved,  of  such  choice  spirits  made  to  be^ 
partakers  of  a  dungeon,  who  should  have 
had  the  first  place  of  honor  nearest  the 
throne,  whilst  such  honorable  places  were 
tilled  by  the  vilest  scum  and  dregs  of  hu- 
manity, svho  would  have  but  disgraced  the 
prison  they  deserved  ?" 

"A  lamentable  truth!  But,  think  you 
not  Sir  Walter  will  be  given  his  freedom  ?" 

"  Never !  His  fame  as  a  hero  galls  one 
who  is  a  noted  coward  ;  his  reputation  as  a 
scholar  hurts  his  vanity  who  hath  scarcely 
the  knowledge  of  a  pedagogue ;  and  his 
worth,  as  a  man,  confounds  him  who,  even 
in  his  vices,  is  ever  grovelling  and  contemp- 
tible.    What  sympathy  can  a  feeble,  vain- 


224 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


glorious,  mud-witteJ,  bosottod  wrotch  have 
for  one  who  is  at  once  gallant,  high-spirited, 
learned,  and  virtuous  ? — Tlie  syinpatliy  of 
the  wolf  for  tlie  deer — of  tlie  mouse  for  thj 
lion — of  the  owl  for  tho  linnet,  i  tell  thee, 
Will,  he  hates  the  noble  R.ileigh,  and  will 
not  rest  till  he  h;is  his  blood — which  he  will 
at  last  take,  on  some  frivolous  pretence  that 
will  damn  him  to  all  posterity." 

"Raleigh  hath  lost  a  powerful  friend  in 
Prince  Henry — had  he  lived  mich  longer. 
I  think  he  would  have  got  Sir  Walter  his 
liberty." 

"  At  least,  he  would  have  tried — but,  now 
that  sweet  youth  is  dead,  Raleigh  hath  lost 
his  only  safeguard  against  the  murder 
which  hath  been  so  long  meditated.  But 
it  is  useless  lamenting,"  added  Ben  Jonson, 
as  he  raised  a  full  cup  of  wine  to  his  lips. 
"  We  are  powerless  to  serve  him  ;  but  we 
can  have  at  least  the  comfort  of  drinking 
confusion  to  his  enemies,  which  I  now  do 
with  all  my  heart — more  especially  refer- 
ring to  one  who  is  a  hypocrite  in  religion, 
a  pretender  to  learning,  a  bad  husbatid,  a 
vile  lather,  a  false  iriend,  a  dishonor  to  his 
lineage,  and  a  disgrace  to  his  country." 

Thereupon  Ben  quaffed  off  his  glass  with 
the  satisfaction  of  one  convinced  he  hath 
done  virtuously.  If  thus  indignant  of  the 
undeserved  treatment  of  so  great  and  good 
a  man  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  how  would 
he  have  expressed  himself,  a  few  years  later, 
when  that  noble  gentleman,  alter  venturing 
witii  great  risk  to  his  newly-discovered 
country  of  Guiana,  in  hope  of  satisfying  the 
cupidity  of  his  royal  jailor,  who  hankered 
alter  a  gold  mine  there  existing,  on  his  re- 
turn was  infamously  brought  to  the  block 
and  made  the  victim  to  his  cowardice  ! 

"But  I  Vv^ill  tell  you  a  stranger  matter," 
said  Bsn,  ri'plcnishin;^  his  empty  platter. 
"  Ned  Alien  liath  grown  as  serious  as  an 
undertaker's  dog.  His  talk  is  of  nothing 
but  building  hospitals,  or  colleges  for  de- 
cayed folk.  He  is  determined  to  set  up  for 
a  Samaritan,  and  will  take  care  there  shall 
be  plenty  of  oil  and  wine  provided  for  such 
wayfarers  as  may  chance  to  fall  among 
thieves  and  get  spoiled.  None  can  doubt 
his  heart  to  bo  of  tlie  best,  but  his  speech 
hath  become  the  strangest  medley  spoken 
by  human  tongue.  If  he  talk  of  the  Fathers, 
you  would  be  rarely  puzzled  with  the  bear- 
garden eulogiuin  directed  towards  them — 
instead  of  St.  Chrysostom,  you  will  hear 
him  speak  of  St.  Bruno.  Polycarp  will 
have  to  give  way  to  Ponto — and  Taurus 
will  take  the  place  of  Thomas  Ajuinas." 

"  This  is  a  new  humor,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare,  laiighing  heartily.     "  I   have 


marked  myself  a  singular  confusion  in  hia 
speech  :  but  then  it  has  been  between  the 
iieroes  of  his  bear-garden  and  those  of  his 
playhouse." 

"  Pfaitli,  Will,  such  confusion  is  none  so 
extraordinary  on  an  occasion,"  added  the 
other,  with  a  sly  humor  working  in  his 
eyes.  "I  have  known  as  many  wcd-playod 
brutes  as  brutal  players,  ere  now." 

"  Pryliiee  tell  me  wh.it  fortune  y(ju  have 
had  of  late  with  your  excellent  writings." 

"  Fortune,  the  jade!"  exclaimed  he,  in  a 
more  serious  tone — "  She  go  hang  !  She 
hath  been  a  damnable  stepdame  to  m:;  as 
ever  worthy  heart  was  plagued  withal. 
Could  it  ever  be  believed  that  one  who  h  ith 
writ  the  best  comedies,  all  as  well  Havo  ed 
with  the  true  attic  salt  as  Aristophanes  had 
writ  them  in  his  best  days,  is  forced  aside 
to  make  room  for  some  unlearned  ass,  who 
hath  no  more  art  than  wit  ?  There  is  my 
'  Volpone,'  now  :  with  no  ill-judged  pride 
did  I  dedicate  such  a  masterpiece  to  the 
two  learned  universities.  I  will  swear  it 
is  a  very  phoenix  among  plays — that  its 
like  hath  not  been  seen  in  England,  nor 
never  will.  Yet  I  kmiw  of  a  soitof  fellows, 
with  scarce  brains  enough  to  hatch  a  bal- 
lad, who  have  thrust  their  crude  inventions 
before  it,  and,  by  means  of  some  tickling 
sauce  for  the  palate  of  the  vulgar,  have  got 
them  to  be  preferred.  Let  them  lick  their 
chaps  over  this  savory  garbage,  say  I.  Jf 
they  can  stomach  such  trash,  I  would  have 
them  feed  till  they  burst.  'J'hey  are  not  tit 
to  have  the  choice  fare  I  set  before  them.  It 
is  the  nature  of  such  hogs  to  wallow  in  the 
refuse  and  tilth  a  better  taste  would  scorn." 

Ben  was  intent  on  displaying  his  weak 
point;  but  his  friend,  who  knew  how  much 
of  worth  there  was  in  him,  despite  his  over- 
appreciation  of  himself  and  his  contemptu- 
ous regard  of  the  pretensions  of  others,  tried 
to  change  the  conversation.  This,  however, 
was  no  such  easy  matter,  and  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  listen  to  much  disparaging 
rem  irks  on  many  writers  he  knew  and  hon- 
ored. At  last,  the  meal  having  been  linish- 
ed  and  the  flask  emptied,  the  last  draught 
drew  him  into  a  passing  commendation  of 
the  wine  :  thereupon  his  host  availed  him- 
self of  this,  and  they  were  presently  in  ear- 
nest discourse  of  the  wines  of  the  ancients, 
on  which  subject  Ben  poured  forth  a  Hood 
of  learning  as  inspiring  as  his  theme. 

Whilst  Simon  Stockfish  cleared  away  tho 
things  and  brought  a  fresh  supply  of  the 
wine  Ben  had  so  commended.  Master 
Shakspeare  informed  his  visitor  he  had 
come  at  a  rare  time,  for  to-morrow  was 
tho  customary  day  of  tlie  Stratford  revels. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


225 


Ben  Jonson  seemed  much  taken  with  this, 
and  vowed  he  had  never  been  in  such  gocd 
fortune  as  to  have  hit  upon  so  excellent  a 
time  for  his  visit.  He  promised  he  would 
play  no  igiioble  part  amongst  the  revellers. 
At  this  his  friend  made  known  to  him  what 
strange  characters  were  some  he  was  like-  ' 
ly  to  meet;  and  he  found  such  entertain- 
ment in  the  description  he  heard  of  Jonus 
Tietape,  Young  Quiney,  and  Tommy  Hart, 
that,  at  his  earnest  request,  they  were  sent 
for  to  afford  him  present  amusement.  They 
came — and,  of  a  surety,  they  made  a  night 
of  it.  I 

Ben  shook  his  fat  sides  most  lustily  at 
the  humors  of  the  woman's  tailor,  and  the 
sport  afforded  that  night  made  tiie  walls  of 
New  Place  resound  again.  Their  host  took 
an  occasion  to  leave  them  when  their  mirih 
was  getting  furious,  but  he  found  it  a  diffi- 
cult matter  to  get  to  sleep  for  the  shouting 
of  ridiculous  catches  and  roaring  songs 
they  chose  to  indulge  in.  This  sort  of  up- 
roar wonderfully  disturbed  the  sense  of  pro- 
priety of  Simon  Stocklish  ;  and,  learning 
his  master  had  gone  to  bed,  he  cudgelled 
his  brains,  with  small  profit,  to  hit  upon  some 
rare  stroke  ot  policy  by  means  of  which  he 
might  be  rid  of  it  presently.  This  he  knew  | 
could  only  be  done  by  the  dispersion  of 
those  who  were  the  busiest  peace-breakers, 
and  he  found  he  had  a  difficult  task  to  effect 
this  with  perfect  security  to  himself  and 
credit  to  his  master — two  points  of  equal  i 
importance  with  him. 

L'ttle  did  these  choice  spirits  imagine, 
whilst  so  absolutely  giving  themselves  up 
to  jollity,  what  throes  they  were  causing 
the  grave  serving-man,  whose  lack  of 
speech  afforded  a  copious  source  of  speech 
in  them.  Ben  Jonson  had  got  them  to  re- 
hearse before  him  certain  speeches  they 
were  to  deliver  in  a  magnificent  play,  styled 
the  Siege  of  Troy^  made  by  the  schoolmas- 
ter, destined  to  be  the  chief  attraction  in  the 
Stratford  revels  of  the  morrow.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  hardly  able  to 
see  out  of  his  eyes,  his  mirth  did  so  puff  up 
his  cheeks,  with  his  arm  resting  on  the  table, 
on  which  stood  lights,  cups,  tankards,  and 
curious  shaped  bottles,  and  the  other  lying 
across  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  an  empty 
glass  in  his  hand.  His  three  associate's 
stood  in  choice  attitudes  in  the  open  space 
before  him  and  the  wall ;  and,  as  Jonas 
Tietape  was  refiresenting  Hector,  armed 
with  a  pot-lid  by  way  of  shield,  and  a  spit 
for  spear  ;  Tommy  Hart  Agamemnon,  with 
a  besom  handle  ;  and  Young  Quiney 
Achilles,  with  a  rolling-pin— eacli  with  bare 
arms,  spouting  the  most  terrible  fustian  ever 
15 


heard,  there  was  sufficient  cause  for  his 
appearing  so  famously  amused.  It  so 
chanced  as  Jonas  was  delivering  himself  of 
some  most  hectoring  lines,  in  rushed  Simon 
Stockfish,  his  leaden  visage  a  most  moving 
picture  of  horror  and  alarm. 

''  How  now,  knave  ?"  cried  Master  Jon- 
son ;  "  how  darest  thou  intrude  thyself,  un- 
announced, upon  such  heroes  as  these  ?" 

"  Speak  —  answer,  slave  !  or  Trojan 
ghosts  shall  keep  thee  company,"  shouted 
the  assumed  Hector,  stalking  up  to  him 
with  stately  steps. 

"  Death  dogs  thy  steps,  presumptuous 
varlet !"  cried  Tommy  Hart,  strutting  for- 
ward with  Agamemnon  strides.  * 

"Nay,  good  sirs!  I  pray  you,  worthy 
Jonas  !  excellent  gossip  Tommy  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  alarmed  serving-man,  turning  im- 
ploringly from  one  to  the  other,  '•  I  did  not 
venture  without  strong  warrant,  be  assured." 
"  Speak,  caitiff!  or  thy  recreant  life 
shall  be  the  forfeit,"  cried  Ben  Jonson. 

"  Excellent  valiant  sirs,"  hurriedly  ex- 
claimed Simon,  not  without  same  apprehen- 
sion, "  some  one  hath  just  brought  me  word 
that  worthy  Jonas  Tietape's  house  hath  ta- 
ken fire." 

Scarce  had  the  words  been  spoke,  when 
the  three  players  dropped  their  several  wea- 
pons, and  rushed  out  of  the  chamber.  In- 
dependently of  their  consideration  for  the 
dogs  and  other  animals,  they  knew  full  well 
that  most  of  the  properties  necessary  for  the 
performance  of  their  famous  play  were 
there  housed  ;  and  they  at  once  made  off,  in 
a  horrible  flight,  to  endeavor  to  save  them 
from  the  devouring  flames,  leaving  Simon 
Stockfish,  for  once  in  his  life,  highly  grati- 
fied at  the  success  of  his  profound  policy. 

The  earliest  risers  the  next  morning 
looked  at  the  gloomy  sky  with  huge  mis- 
giving ;  but,  much  to  their  content,  as  the 
day  grew  older,  the  heavy  clouds  dispersed, 
and  the  visiters  were  ushered  inlo  Stratford 
with  a  burst  of  sunshine,  that  made  the  gay 
scene  tnat  presented  itself  before  them  a 
thousand  times  more  cheerful.  Again  com- 
menced the  Stratford  revels  in  all  their 
several  varieties,  and  again  a  glorious  ca- 
valcade filed  through  the  streets,  wherein 
Master  Shakspeare  was  the  particular  grace 
and  ornament  to  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  admiring  spectators.  This  time  he  rode 
alone;  for  the  gentle  Susanna,  now  Mas- 
ter Doctor  Hairs  excellent  fair  helpmate, 
was  with  her  friends,  riding  amongst  the 
gentlewomen  who  had  joined  the  procession. 

With  the  gentlemen  rode  Master  Benja- 
min Jonson,  wonderfully  taken  with  all  he 
saw  and  heard,  especially  with  the  various 


226 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


sports  which  he  did  commend  right  liberal- 
ly. His  perfect  restoration  to  health  made 
Master  Shakspeare  appear  in  sucn  good 
case  as  grcat;y  delighted  his  innumerable 
admirers;  and,  possibly,  the  greatdanger  he 
had  been  in  appeared  greatly  to  increase  the 
claim  on  their  admiration  liis  own  talents 
had  secured. 

The  great  business  of  the  day  proceeded 
admirably  ;  but  the  grand,  unrivalled  spec- 
tacle of  a  classical  play  appeared  to  take 
the  spectators  by  storm.  The  Siege  of 
Troy  was  looked  upon  by  many  as  a  super- 
Imman  effort  of  human  intellect ;  and  the 
wooden  horse,  supposed  to  have  done  such 
rare  service,  the  invention  of  Jonas  Tietape 
and  young  Quiney,  for  the  safety  o  which 
the  three  friends  had  made  such  famous  use 
of  their  legs  the  previous  night,  was  the 
source  of  the  most  absolute  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. Certainly,  Master  Shakspeare 
did  marvel  in  no  small  measure,  but  he 
found  it  horribly  difficult  to  maintain  his 
gravity  whilst  glancing  at  his  friend,  whose 
ludicrous  aspect  during  the  performance  it 
looked  impossible  to  stand  against. 

But  all  things  have  an  end  ;  and,  though 
the  Siege  of  Troy  was  unconscionably  long, 
it  did  at  last  reach  its  conclusion — with  no 
slight  regret,  by  the  way,  to  much  the  grea- 
ter  part  of  the  spectators,  who  seemed  hard- 
ly to  know  of  which  they  should  most  ap- 
prove, the  Greeks  or  tlie  Trojans.  Never- 
theless, the  reader  must  submit  to  be  hur- 
ried from  this  and  many  other  delectable 
sights  that  were  attracting  delighted  crowds 
on  that  notable  holiday,  and  be  set  at  once 
before  the  choicest  sight,  which  was  a 
grand  banquet,  given  by  the  high  bailift'and 
corporation  in  honor  of  the  guest,  to  whose 
fair  name  the  proceedings  of  the  day  in- 
tended to  do  some  sufficient  honor. 

Certes,  this  banquet  was  marvellously 
imposing,  and  in  consequence  of  Master 
Siiakspeare's  recent  recovery  from  his  dan 
gerous  sickness,  a  greater  number  of 
guests  assembled  than  the  Guildhall  had 
ever  contained  before.  There  was  a  most 
imposing  array  of  flowers,  and  laurels,  and 
no  lack  of  plate  or  napery.  The  high  bai- 
liff" sat  at  the  head  of  the  room,  with  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  cm  his  right,  and  Sir  George 
Carew  on  his  Iclt;  and  down  along  table, 
having  a  cross  one  at  the  bottom,  sat  not 
only  all  the  notables  of  those  parts,  with  the 
more  respectable  sort  of  burgesses  of  Sirat- 
ford,  but  many  persons  of  so;ne  distinction, 
fast  friends  of  Master  ShaKsjjeare,  who  had 
hurried  to  Stratford  once  more  to  renew 
their  acquaintance  with  one  with  v/hom  ac- 
quaintance was  a  distinction. 


Nothing  can  be  said  here  particularizing 
the  viands,  or  describing  their  number  and 
qualities.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  state  that 
the  tables  might  have  groaned  with  their 
weight  and  number.  Everything  connected 
with  the  feast  was  of  the  choicest  sort,  and 
amongst  the  company  there  existed  one 
ennobling  spirit  of  homage  to  the  object  of 
their  sympathy  and  goodfellowship.  They 
were  wonderfully  enlivened  by  the  company 
of  Ben  Jonson,  who  was  in  a  rare  mood  for 
the  display  of  his  choice,  facetious  talent. 
In  this  he  was  well  seconded  by  Sir  George 
Carew,  whose  exceeding  courteousness, 
and  aifable  pleasant  grace  won  the  hearts 
of  all.  It  was  when  the  wine-flasks  had 
commenced  doing  their  inspiring  office,  that 
the  attention  of  the  whole  of  that  gallant 
company  was  attracted  towards  Sir  George, 
by  his  rising  from  his  seat  with  an  evident 
desire  in  him  to  address  them.  A  respec- 
table silence  quickly  ensued. 

"  It  hath  been  said,"  he  observed,  after  a 
brief  preamble  touching  his  pleasure  at 
meeting  so  numerous  and  brave  an  assem- 
bly, '■  that  a  famous  monarch,  of  times 
passed,  ofTered  a  most  tempting  reward  to 
any  one  who  would  invent  for  him  a  new 
pleasure.  Certes,  had  he  lived  in  these 
days,  he  would  not  have  had  long  to  wait 
for  what  he  so  required,  and  methinks  it  be- 
hoveth  us,  with  whom  so  much  of  a  very 
exquisite  sort  have  been  made  lamiliar,  to 
be  no  less  liberal.  We,  too,  should  offer  a 
higher  appreciation  for  the  delights  that 
have  been  so  bountifully  afforded  us,  for 
they  are  altogether  of  a  nobler  kind  than 
such  as  might  have  been  created  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  a  jaded  voluptuary.  Our  new 
enjoyments  are  drawn  from  that  better  part 
of  us  that  constitutes  our  intelligence,  acting 
in  unison  with  those  tine  sympatliies  that  do 
serve  to  bind  us  indissolubly  to  all  human 
things.  But,  as  cannot  be  unknown  to  you, 
we  have  a  source  of  pride  as  well  as  of 
pleasure  in  the  creator  of  these  exquisite 
sweet  enjoyments.  He  is  one  of  ourselves. 
He  is  our  neighbor — our  companion — our 
friend.  He  is  that  incomparably  sweet  gen- 
tleman so  well  known  amongst  us  all — he 
is  our  townsman  and  friend — William  Shak- 
speare !" 

Every  one  had  listened  with  a  most 
pleased  attentiveness  to  the  flowing  sylla- 
bles of  the  old  courtier.  As  his  meaning 
began  to  break  upon  them,  every  eye  flashed 
with  eloquent  deliglit ;  and  when  the  object 
of  his  eulogium  was  betrayed  by  the  men- 
tion of  his  name,  there  came  forth  such  a 
hearty  burst  of  applause  as  stopped  his 
speech  for  some  few  moments. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


227 


"  Of  his  excellence  in  the  art  he  pro- 
fesses," continued  the  speaker,  "  there  hath 
already  been  ample  testimony.  He  hath  )b- 
tained  such  repute,  and  such  gain  in  its 
exercise,  as  hath  never  been  possessed  by 
by  any  in  the  same  art.  Bat  it  is  with  no 
small  gratification  I  find  myself  enabled, 
from  personal  knowledge,  to  advance,  that ; 
his  worth  as  a  man  keepeth  such  fair  pace  ; 
Avith  his  merit  as  though  they  were  twin- 
born.  I  feel  assured  those  who  know  him 
will  agree  with  me  in  the  opinion  that  in  him  I 
the  gilts  of  the  heart  are  not  less  powferful 
than  those  of  the  mind.  Such  is  sweet 
Willie  Shakspeare — our  Shakspeare,  of 
Stratford  upon  Avon." 

Again  a  burst  of  loud  applause  broke 
forth  from  the  company,  testifying  their  ac- 
knowledgments of  the  propriety  of  this 
praise. 

"  Filled  with  these  impressions,"  he  add- 
ed, "  I  must  needs  say  I  look  for  your  com- 
plete contentation  to  a  proposition  I  have  risen 
to  submit  to  you.  In  this  most  honorable  of 
days — for  such  surely  it  should  be  styled, 
having  given  birth  to  two  such  distinguish- 
ed characters  as  Shakspeare  and  St.  George 
— we  have  been  employed  in  various  devi- 
ces for  showing  how  gratefully  we  look  upon 
it  for  having  bestowed  upon  us  our  rare 
townsman  and  friend  — let  us  crown  our  pro- 
per task  with  drinking,  in  full  glasses,  of 
the  choicest  wine  before  us,  in  this  sort — 
Here's  to  thee,  sweet  Willie  Shakspeare, 
and  numberless  happy  returns  to  thee  of 
this  golden  day  !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  goodly  speech 
such  acclamaiions  arose,  as  made  a  very 
tempest,  at  it  were,  throughout  that  cham- 
ber. Scarcely  had  it  subsided,  when  Mas- 
ter Benjamin  Jonson  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
began  a  comment  on  what  had  so  moved  the 
company.  He  was  unknown  to  nearly  all, 
but  his  powerful  manner  of  speaking,  and 
an  air  of  free  and  jovial  humor  with  him, 
got  him  abundance  of  listeners.  His  pre- 
face of  his  disadvantages  in  being  a  stranger 
to  the  friends  of  one  whom  he  had  ever  re- 
garded as  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  repeat,  nor  is  there  need  he 
should  be  followed  in  the  prodigality  of  quo- 
tations from  Greek  and  Roman  authors  with 
which  he  chose  to  lard  his  discourse.  Me- 
thinks  it  will  be  best  to  give  no  more  than 
this,  the  marrow  of  what  he  said : 

"  We  are  told,  my  masters,  in  a  certain 
classic  author  of  my  acquaintance,  that 
there  were  great  men  before  Agamemnon, 
but,  before  the  Agamemnon  of  our  Iliad, 
there  were  no  great  men ;  in  brief,  so  far 
from  it,  all  who  were  his  predecessors  in 


the  marvellous  talent  which  hath  raised  hira 
to  so  proud  an  eminence,  were  but  as  dwarfs 
compared  with  him.  His  greatness  smacked 
of  those  days  of  which  it  was  said — there 
were  giants.  To  what  hath  been  already 
advanced  by  one  so  admirably  qualified  by 
his  scholarship,  by  his  far  distant  travels, 
and  by  his  long  intimacy  with  the  object  of 
his  well  deserved  praise,  to  speak  on  such  a 
subject  and  fully  and  entirely  to  the  purpose, 
I  can  make  no  addition  worthy  of  note.  It 
hath  not  been  my  good  fortune,  like  him,  to 
have  lived  amongst  you,  nevertheless,  I  have 
had  many  opportunities  of  studying  the  fair 
page  he  hath  so  admirably  got  by  heart.  I 
have  known  him  to  whom  I  allude  and 
loved  him  long,  honored  his  genius  beyond 
that  of  any  living  or  dead,  and  regarded  his 
worth  with  a  kind  of  reverence.  1  cannot, 
therefore,  be  expected  to  be  backward  when 
a  way  of  honoring,  what  I  honor  so  exceed- 
ingly, is  under  discussion.  I  must  needs, 
at  such  a  call  as  we  have  just  heard,  be 
the  first  to  answer :  therefore  do  I  now  re- 
peat, with  all  earnestness  of  soul, '  Here's 
to  thee,  sweet  Willie  Shakspeare.  and  num- 
berless happv  returns  to  thee  of  this  golden 
day  !'  " 

Amid  a  storm  of  plaudits,  no  less  loud 
than  followed  the  former  speech.  Master 
Shakspeare  was  seen  to  rise  from  his  seat. 
He  looked  admirably,  with  health  in  his 
cheek,  and  pleasure  in  his  eye,  and  vigor  in 
every  manly  limb,  and,  as  he  directed  hia 
gaze  down  the  line  of  friendly  faces  turned 
towards  him  with  looks  of  mingled  rever- 
ence and  affection,  his  gaze  seemed  to 
brighten  with  the  purest  happiness,  and  his 
form  to  dilate,  as  it  were,  with  the  most  e.x- 
alted  pride.  He  began  to  speak,  at  first  de- 
liberately, with  words  of  ordinary  accepta- 
tion, as  he  mentioned  the  honor  that  had 
been  done  him,  and  his  unworthiness  to  ex- 
press the  grateful  sense  of  it  he  entertained ; 
but,  when  he  advanced  more  into  the  sub- 
ject, he  got  free  of  the  spirit  of  form  and 
ceremony  that  he  had  been  struggling  with. 
He  spoke  of  his  early  years,  and  showed 
how  much  he  was  indebted  to  Stratford  for 
whatever  had  given  him  the  means  of  taking 
the  place  amongst  them  he  sought ;  and, 
knowing  and  feeling  his  obligations,  it 
could  not  be  surprising  that  he  liad  chosen 
it  as  the  spot  in  which  he  desired  to  live 
out  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

"  A  few  years  only  have  passed,"  said 
he,  "  since  I  traversed  foreign  lauds,  where 
my  eyes  were  witnesses  to  many  strange 
and  wonderful  things.  I  stood  were  fire  and 
ashes  have  burned  and  buried  two  largo  and 
noble  cities,  yet,  with  many  such  marvellous 


228 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


inattors  about  me,  I  thought  of  Stratford. 
I  behild  tho  yellow  Tiber  flowing  in  the 
lionored  neighborhood  of  ancient  Rome  ;  I 
floated  on  the  dark  lagunes  of  once  trium- 
pliant  Venice  ;  and  I  gazed  in  transport  on 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Auriatic  Sea;  but 
they  wore  to  me  as  though  they  never  were, 
when  1  thought  of  the  less  imposing  beau- 
ties of  our  exquisite  Avon. 

'•  And  since  I  have  returned  to  them,  what 
a  balm  hath  visited  me  in  their  looks  ! — 
river,  wood,  and  sky  ;  the  green  lane,  the 
flowery  heath,  the  corn-field,  the  orchard, 
and  the  grove,  have  come  upon  me  like  the 
faces  of  ministering  angels  seen  in  dreams, 
giving  assurance  of  health's  comfort,  and 
the  soul's  repose,  never  to  be  gainsaid.  With 
these  have  been  associated  many  a  gallant 
spirit,  overflowing  with  generous  sympathy 
— many  a  tender  heart  prodigal  of  its  sweet- 
est solace — much  admiration,  some  rever- 
ence, and  more  good-will.  It  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  thought  surprising  I  should  gather 
matter  of  inflnite  contentation  in  finding  my 
ark  at  rest  in  so  admirable  a  spot. 

'•  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  good  wish- 
es. When  a  boy,  1  remember  me  well,  in 
the  prospective  my  young  ambition  stirred 
my  fancy  with,  1  saw  in  the  remotest  dis- 
tance some  such  proud  scene  as  the  present. 
Its  happy  accomplishment  looks  as  if  Des- 
tiny haih  done  for  me  all  that  had  been 
promised,  and  that  I  must  prepare  me  for  a 
change  where  alteration  is  unknown. — 
Should  it  so  chance  that  I  live  not  to  see 
another  anniversary  of  the  day  you  have  so 
greatly  glorified,  accept,  I  beseech  you,  my 
gratefid  thanks  for  this  bountiful  proof  of 
your  desire  for  my  honor  and  well-biing, 
and  be  assured  I  feel  both  proud  and  happy 
in  your  favorable  opinion,  which  it  hath  been 
as  much  my  wish  to  possess,  as  it  shall  be 
my  duty  to  retain." 

The  applause  which  here  followed,  and 
tlie  various  enthusiastic  commendations 
from  other  quarters,  mu.st  be  left  to  the  un- 
derstanding reader.  The  scone  was  a  proud 
one,  and  none  regarded  it  with  feelings  of 
Buch  exquisite  gratification  as  the  afFection- 
tile  Susanna  and  her  loving  husband,  who 
looked  on  the  pleased  triumphant  features  of 
their  honored  parent  with  feelings  of  ming- 
led reverence  and  affection.  The  reader, 
however,  must  be  content  he  should  leave 
the  place  where  his  hero  received  those 
Well-merited  honors,  and  accompany  him 
back  to  his  own  dwelling.  Before  retiring 
to  his  chamber,  he  took  a  light,  and  appear- 
ed to  feel  a  singidar  ])leasure  in  going  over 
tho  few  pictures,  examining  some  of  the  rare 
Looks,  and  one  or  two  of  the  best  examples 


of  antique  furniture.  He  seemed  to  dwell 
upon  them  with  a  more  than  ordinary  earn- 
estness. 

Anon  he  drew  himself  away  from  them, 
and,  having  entered  his  own  chamber,  sat 
himself  down  by  the  open  casement,  and, 
resting  his  head  upon  his  hand,  leaned  (.ut, 
gazing  upon  the  blossoming  orchard,  the 
pastures,  and  hedge- rows,  and  all  the  fea- 
tures of  a  lovely  landscape  then  spread  out 
before  him,  over  which  the  moon,  riding 
high  and  clear,  occasionally  obscured  by 
quick-passing  clouds,  appeared  to  bathe  ev- 
ery object  in  an  atmosphere  of  supernatural 
beauty.  His  tuoughts  seemed  spiritualized 
by  the  touching  aspect  of  the  scene  he 
looked  on. 

Not  very  far  removed  from  the  moon's 
orbit,  he  observed  a  star  with  an  exceeding 
bright  and  strange  brilliancy.  While  he 
gazed,  there  suddenly  entered  into  his  mind 
the  conviction  that  the  soul  of  his  lone-la- 
mented Hamnet  inhabited  its  precincts. 
Master  Shakspeare  lived  again  in  the  past 
— a  holy  and  a  tranquillizing  spirit  seemed 
to  take  possession  of  him,  that  brought  him, 
as  it  were,  into  immediate  communion  with 
the  immortal  nature  of  that  glorious  boy  of 
whom  he  had  been  so  proud,  and  whose  pre- 
mature divorce  from  his  embraces  he  had 
lamented,  with  more  than  a  lover's  constan- 
cy in  a  first  and  only  passion.  His  soul 
was  subdued  by  the  force  of  early  memories 
— affections,  aspirations,  anticipations,  once 
so  devoutly  cherished,  he  clung  to  as  doth  a 
drowning  wretch  to  the  tangled  weed  upon 
the  perilous  shore  whereon  he  hath  suffered 
shipwreck.  Yet  in  all  this  abandonment  to 
so  ancient  a  sorrow,  there  came  a  sense  of 
present  relief  beaming  like  a  Pharos  through 
the  gloom  of  a  troubled  night  upon  the 
ocean,  that  did  calm  his  perturbed  spirit 
most  admirably. 

He  turned  i'mm  the  casement,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  was  resting  his  honored  head 
upon  his  pillow.  He  shortly  fell  into  alight 
slumber,  half-waking  and  half-dreaming,  in 
which  indistinct  images  of  things  presented 
themselves,  mixing  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future  in  strange  confusion.  At 
one  time  his  thoughts  wore  the  rosy  hues  of 
his  early  life,  and  the  visions  that  had  filled 
his  solitude  with  ftiiry  shapes  and  heavenly 
scenes  came  to  him,  as  doth  the  sudden  res- 
toration of  sight  to  one  who  hath  been  blind 
many  years.  Anon  rose  forms  of  a  more 
endearing  loveliness,  every  limb  and  feature 
teeming  with  feminine  truth  and  passionate 
devotedness ;  the  last  bearing  the  likeness 
of  the  noble  lady  whose  rare  qualities  of 
heart  and  mind  had  held  his   senses  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


229 


such  strict  yet  honorable  subserviency. 
Then  came  memorials  of  triumphs  accom- 
plished, of  honor  won,  of  supremacy  ac- 
knowledged— a  most  imposing  retinue  :  am) 
at  last  all  seemed  to  mingle  into  one — a 
golden  mist  penetrating  and  obscuring  all, 
so  that  he  could  get  but  obscure  snatches 
of  what  had  awlaiie  since  appeared  so  dis- 
tinctly. 

One  of  the  very  last  objects  that  present- 
ed itself  was  a  face  that  rapidly  changed 
fiom  a  feminine  aspect  of  iuimortal  beauty 
to  an  old  crone,  which  was  presently  suc- 
ceeded by  a  lovely  smiling  youth,  in  a  beck- 
oning attitude  ;  but  hardly  had  he  recog- 
nized its  fomiliar  shape,  when  a  black  cloud 
surrounded  its  outline,  and  it  began  percep- 
tibly to  fade  away. 

At  this  period  he  became  aware  of  a 
strange  sensation,  like  a  small  flame  creep- 
ing up  his  extremities.  The  cloud  grew 
blacker  round  the  indistinct  image  of  the 
intelligent  aspect  he  had  loved  with  such 
entirenes-s.  The  flame  crept  up  above  his 
knees.  Tiie  cloud  encompassed  the  tigure 
of  the  child,  passing  over  it  like  a  thick  tilm, 
and  gathered  round  the  dreamer's  head  in  a 
heavy  voluttie.  The  flame  crept  up  his 
legs  to  his  body.  The  inky  cloud  passed 
over  the  exquisitely-smiling  aspect,  and  be- 
came as  a  pall  before  the  dreamer's  eyes. 
The  flame  crept  up  to  his  heart,  at  the  same 
moment  that  a  darkness  enveloped  him  too 
black  for  a  ray  of  light  ever  again  to  pene- 
trate. 

All  the  revellers  were  fast  locked  in  their 
first  sleep,  and  the  whole  town  seemed  to 
slumber  no  less  profoundly,  so  tranquil  was 
its  aspec^in  the  calm  moonlight ;  but  if  any 
where  there  existed  a  perfect  repose,  surely 
it  was  in  a  certain  part  of  the  meadows  bor- 
dering on  the  river.  The  Avon,  of  a  surety, 
still  pursued  its  course,  but  it  was  as  with 
a  lethargy  that  threatened  to  check  its  ca- 
reer. The  mill  had  stopped,  and  the  mill- 
stream  was  therefore  dumb.  For  a  marvel, 
neither  beast  nor  fowl  gave  evidence  of  ex- 
istence. The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold, 
in  a  sky  traversed  with  quick,  gloomy  clouds, 
now  giving  the  river  an  aspect  of  molten 
silver,  and  making  visible  the  farms,  the 
mill,  the  straggling  town,  and  the  towering 
church ;  anon,  leaving  all  in  impenetrable 
darkness. 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  low  wail  ;  it  was 
not  easy  to  pronounce  its  cause,  for  it  par- 
took of  the  moan  of  the  wind  among  the 
trees,  and  the  just  audible  diapason  of  the 
church-organ  beard  afar  off.  It  gathered 
force   and    character  every   moment    and 


grew  into  a  solemn  chant,  or  lament,  so 
touching,  so  subduing,  it  might  have  passed 
for  a  Miserere,  sung  by  a  company  of  spec- 
tral monks  in  some  ruined  abbey. 

At  this  time,  there  might  be  seen  innu- 
merable specks  high  in  the  atmosphere. 
These  presently  grew  upon  the  eye  till  they 
took  the  shape  of  figures  of  e.xtraordinary 
smallness,  each  clad  in  a  cloak  of  inky 
blackness  ;  and  as  they  all  came  in  a  body 
towards  the  meadows,  it  might  readily  be 
known  that  they  sang  in  solenui  chorus  the 
following  words  : 

THE  FAIRY  REQUIEM. 


Fair  courtiers  of  the  fields  and  woods. 

Rare  minstrels  of  the  skies. 
Put  oli'  gay  vests  and  flaunting  hoods, 

Attempt  grave  harmonies. 
The  funeral  cloak,  the  church-yard  chant, 
Comprise  whatever  ye  most  want. 


Ye  lillies  pure,  and  sweet  jonquils, 
Lone  violet,  queenly  rose. 

Ye  pansies,  kingcuj^s,  datfodils. 
Forswear  your  gallant  shows  ; 

Ye  marigolds,  so  proudly  dress'd, 

A  darker  suit  becomes  ye  best. 


And  all  things  that  are  fair  and  good. 
Your  bravest  shapes  give  o'er; 

The  darling  of  your  brotherhood 
Belongs  to  )'ou  no  inore. 

.Mourn  !  mourn  !  for  such  another  one 

Shall  ne'er  be  found  beneath  the  sun. 


The  earth  hath  lost  its  fairest  grace, 
Gift  ne'er  to  be  supplied. 

And  fails  to  be  a  fitting  place 
For  fairy  forms  to  hide. 

Here,  losing  all  we  might  befriend. 

Our  pleasant  rule  is  at  an  end. 


Farewell,  then,  each  loved  bud  and  flow'r ; 

Farewell  the  verdant  mead. 
The  fragrant  air,  the  secret  bow'r. 

Soft  fern  and  towering  reed. 
Bearing,  in  solemn  rite  we  come. 
Our  honored  Shakspeare  to  his  Home. 

As  the  innumerable  multitude  approached, 
the  attentive  spectator  could  not  fail  of  ob- 
serving that,  in  the  midst,  was  a  sort  of  cir- 
cle, at  the  head  of  which  two  figures  might 
have  been  noticed,  so  far  like  the  rest  in 
wearing  black  cloaks,  but  differing  from 
them  in  this  important  matter — each  wore 


230 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


on  its  head  what  looked  to  be  a  golden 
crown.  In  the  centre,  thus  surrounded,  it 
was  difficult  to  make  out  what  had  a  place 
— it  bore  the  appearance  of  a  thin,  gray 
film,  having  much  the  resemblance — though 
too  indistinct  to  pronounce  decidedly — of  a 
human  figure  and  countenance,  floating  up- 
on the  air.  Afterwards  came  a  countless 
crowd  of  the  small  figures,  in  tlieir  inky 


garments,  and  the  doleful  wail  of  their  nu- 
merous voices  sounded  like  a  funeral  dinre. 
Presently  a  huge  mass  of  clouds  came 
upon  the  moon,  and  when  she  emerged 
from  behind  this  black  shield,  the  same  deep 
stillness  reigned  that  had  a  moment  since 
wrapped  the  whole  neighborhood  as  closely 
as  if  the  place  formed  a  sepulchre  in  the 
midst  of  a  mighty  desert. 


HERE    ENDETH    THE    STORY    OF 

THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Note. — This  pleasant  task  is  ended.  This  labor  of  love  hath  been  brought  to  a  conclusion. 
There  now  only  remaineth  one  thing  to  be  done  ere  the  courteous  reader,  and  the  doubtless 
too-ambitious  author,  who  hath  so  long  and  largely  demanded  his  attention,  part — of  a  surety 
never  to  meet  again  in  such  honorable  company.  He  cannot  close  an  acquaintance  carried 
over  so  many  pages,  without  expressing  a  hope  that,  notwithstanding  manifold  defects,  for 
which  he  prayeth  a  gracious  indulgence,  his  excellent  worthy  friend  has  received  some  plea- 
sure at  this  picture  of  an  age  that  in  its  many  golden  features  has  not  been  equalled  in  latter 
times,  and  this  portrait  of  greatness  never  excelled  in  any.  To  those  of  his  readers,  slowly  and 
heedfuUy  descending  the  hill  of  life,  he  desireth  such  absolute  perfect  ease  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  as  tired  traveller  never  had  glimpse  of,  with  many  inestimable  memories  with  which 
to  rejoice  such  as  they  leave  behind  ;  and  to  those  who  are  but  climbers  iii  the  same  path — to 
the  exquisite  fair  creatuJe  who  hath  carried  her  generous  sympathies  through  all  the  varying 
scenes  here  set  down,  he  wishes  the  fullest  measure  of  content  in  her  ati'ections  her  prodigal 
young  heart  can  sigh  for :  whilst  to  the  young  gay  gallant,  glowing  with  all  life's  richest 
impulses,  he  wishes  numberless  opportunities  for  noble  adventure,  and  much  comfort  with 
his  lady. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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fiDec'SruD 
23XNov'561S 

NOV  16  1335 
JUL  lU  1959 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


Mia9f>780 


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